The Credit Score Martyr: Co-signing Her Escape

My name is Elias, and I am a prisoner to a debt that bought someone else's freedom.

In Vancouver, the housing market is a nightmare. Clara desperately wanted a condo—a place to "start her life." But her credit was trashed from student loans and poor choices. She sat in my car and cried, telling me she felt like a failure. "I just need a co-signer, Elias. Just someone to bridge the gap for a year. I’d never let anything happen to your credit. You know me."

I knew her. I knew I loved her more than I valued my own financial safety. I signed the papers. My parents told me I was insane. My financial advisor told me I was signing my own death warrant. But the "high" of seeing her hold those keys, the way she jumped into my arms and called me her "savior," was worth more to me than a credit score.

Six months later, she lost her job. Then she stopped answering my texts. Then the bank started calling me. She had moved her new boyfriend into the condo—a guy who didn't work and spent her remaining savings. Every month, I pay half of her mortgage in secret just to keep the bank from coming after my name. I work three jobs, I haven't bought new clothes in a year, and my own dreams of buying a home are dead for the next decade. I saw her at a grocery store recently; she was glowing, carrying bags of expensive organic food. She looked at me and gave a small, awkward wave before turning away. I’m paying for the roof over her head while I live in a basement, but as long as she isn't homeless, I tell myself I’ve done my job.