I paid my parents’ mortgage for almost 10 years. When I got married, I told them I couldn’t continue. My dad smiled and said, “You’ve done enough, son. We’re proud of you.” I thought we were okay. A month later, I found out the truth from my sister. My blood boiled when she said they were about to lose the house.

I remember just staring at her, thinking she had to be joking. My sister, Mara, doesn’t exaggerate, so the look on her face told me this was real. She said the bank had already sent a final notice.

I felt sick. Ten years of payments, and somehow they were still drowning.
I asked her how that was even possible. She hesitated, then told me something that made my chest tighten. Dad had refinanced the house three years ago.
Without telling me.

Apparently, he took out extra money on top of the mortgage. Money I never knew about.
I drove straight to my parents’ place that night. My wife, Alina, stayed home because she knew I needed to handle it alone. I barely remember the drive.
Dad opened the door like nothing was wrong. He offered me tea.
I didn’t sit down.
I asked him directly about the refinance. He looked surprised, then disappointed, like I’d invaded his privacy.
“Yes,” he said calmly. “I had to.”
Had to.
Those two words echoed in my head.
He explained that when the factory closed, he had invested some savings into a small transport business with a friend. He thought it would be a safe move.

It wasn’t.
The friend mismanaged funds, and the business collapsed within a year. Dad didn’t sue because they had been friends for decades.
Instead, he refinanced the house to cover the debt.
I asked him why he didn’t tell me. His answer hurt more than the debt.