At 50, I quit. My job, the stress, the polite meetings where I smiled through gritted teeth. I’d saved enough to breathe for a while. What I hadn’t planned was quitting another role: full-time financier to my adult kids.

I told them gently: “I’m done covering for you. Rent, car insurance, overdraft fees—you’ll have to figure it out.”

My daughter cried, then asked if we could still get coffee every week. My son… laughed. Laughed.