She wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat.
“I knew she was helping us. I didn’t ask where every dollar came from.”
“Because not knowing helped you sleep.”
Her mouth trembled.
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”
The silence between us was heavy.
Then she whispered, “I’m scared.”
And there it was.
The human part.
The part that made boundaries feel like cruelty.
I looked at my sister across the table.
She was twenty-seven now.
Her hair was greasy.
Her coat had a missing button.
She looked much older than she should have.
And still, under all the mess, I could see the girl who used to share cereal with me while Dad sang off-key at the stove.
“I’m scared too,” I said.
She laughed through her tears.
“You? You’re doing great.”
“I’m one emergency away from losing everything I’ve built.”
