April 29, 2025 by Julian Reyes

I don’t really know when it started—maybe when I was 14, maybe even younger. All I know is, somewhere along the line, slipping money from my parents’ wallets became more than just a bad habit. It became a rush. Not like a drug, exactly, but close. That flutter in my chest, the heat in my ears, the feeling like I had control over something, finally.

I’m 17 now. Old enough to know better. And definitely old enough to realize that what I’ve done isn’t just “sneaky” or “rebellious”—it’s stealing. From the two people who’ve done the most for me.

I’ve taken more than I can justify—small bills here and there turned into hundreds, and recently, thousands. Over $4000. I can barely even say that out loud. Every time I look at the things I bought—clothes, a speaker, stuff I don’t even use—I feel sick. Like each item weighs a little more than I can carry.

I’m the third of five kids. It’s easy to get lost in the shuffle. No one’s really paying close attention unless you mess up big. Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing—acting out in a way that forces someone to finally stop and look. Or maybe that’s just me trying to spin this into something it’s not, something less ugly.

The last time I got caught, my parents didn’t yell. That was almost worse. They just looked… tired. Disappointed. They told me I’d lose the job at the summer camp, the one I was actually excited about. The one where I’d finally earn my own money. I’d already signed the contract. I was counting on it. I was planning to use every paycheck to pay them back.

And now I’m stuck. I haven’t told them about the full amount yet. I keep thinking maybe I can fix this without breaking what little trust is left. But deep down I know that’s not how it works. Secrets rot things from the inside.

So what do I do? I honestly don’t know. Part of me wants to march into the kitchen tonight and just lay it all out—no excuses, no softening the blow. Just the truth. Another part wants to bury it and hope time smooths things over.

But I don’t think it will. Not this time. And I don’t want to live under the weight of this anymore. I want to make it right, whatever that looks like.

Even if they hate me for a while. Even if I lose everything I was hoping for this summer.

I think the hardest part of growing up is realizing that apologies don’t undo damage—but sometimes, they’re the first step to becoming someone better.