When our daughter Ava was born, our families pitched in—$45,000 total—for her college fund. I worked overtime to contribute. Greg’s only job was to deposit it.
Instead, he used it to buy a rusty old Bronco, calling it an “investment.” I was devastated. That night, I left a Polaroid of a pristine ’72 Bronco on his pillow with a note: “Congratulations on your investment.”
He got the message.
Within two days, he sold the truck, deposited $42,500 back into Ava’s account, and quietly started working extra shifts to rebuild trust.
There was no dramatic apology—just effort. And that meant more.
Now, Ava’s fund is growing again. We still talk about the Bronco—not as a dream, but as the lesson that love and responsibility come first.
