It all started when I was 19, in my first semester at college. I'd moved away from home and into my first apartment, and got my first roommate as well. He was a year younger than me, but unlike me he hadn't spent a year after graduating highschool saving up his money for tuition and rent. His parents died in an avalanche at a ski resort, and between their considerable savings and the payout from the life insurance, he could afford college and not have to work for years. I hadn't known it when I met him at orientation and we decided to share an apartment, but he also had custody of his 11 year old sister.

The apartment was big, and nicer than I could have ever afforded on my own, so all three of us had separate bedrooms (hers was supposed to be a laundry room or something originally.). I also discovered my roommate was a bit of a dick who neglected his little sister.

I don't think it was intentional, more a result of losing his parents and having to adjust his plans for the future to revolve around caring for his sibling, and he probably wasn't ready for that sort of responsibility. But unless he needed to give her a ride or buy her something she needed, he basically didn't interact with her. He also barely did anything with me; maybe once a week he'd play video games with me, but he spent nearly all his time in class or shut in his room studying.

His little sister was cute, with her blue eyes, freckles, and short, light brown hair, but obviously way too young for me. She didn't play with dolls or anything, so I guess she was mature for her age, but she also spent all her time shut in her room when she wasn't at school. And I don't think she had any friends at her new school either.

After a month or so with my new roommates, we'd settled into a routine. If they weren't exactly friendly, they weren't bad either; quiet, clean, and they were the only way I could afford a really nice apartment just a block from campus.

I wish I'd known then what I know now. It'd have saved me a lot of grief.