Splitting Coupons with a Billionaire

The day the Bancrofts reclaimed me from the state care system, I was formally diagnosed with what my therapist called an acute financial anxiety disorder.

To me, it wasn’t a disorder; it was survival.

Director Walsh had hammered it into our heads from the moment we could hold a spoon: "Every dime you waste is a meal torn out of another kid’s mouth."

So even after my biological parents brought me back to their sprawling estate, I couldn’t bring myself to touch their luxury. I squeezed shower gel out in pea-sized dots. I tore paper towels in half down the perforated seams to make them last.