He looked around and realized—he’d built nothing. No house, no savings, not even a car to call his own. Every paycheck had evaporated into music, liquor, and late nights. He hadn’t prepared for a future because he never expected to need one. But now, the bill had arrived—$50,000 and no escape.
Vincent sat there for hours, the silence unspooling like a reel of tape. He didn’t reach for a drink. Didn’t call anyone. For the first time, he let himself feel it all—fear, shame, disbelief. He’d lived like a ghost passing through parties. Now he felt real. Too real.