After the family reunion, I checked my bank account — it was empty. (4 of 9)

“I wasn’t told.”

“Because you always say no when it’s not an emergency! Sarah,” I said flatly, “this isn’t just messed up. It’s criminal.”

“You’re being dramatic. It’s family.”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“We didn’t think you’d mind! You’ve always helped. That’s what you’re for, right?”

There it was. That’s what you’re for. Not a brother, not a son. Just a resource. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake, going over every favor, every transfer, every time they saw me as a bank account instead of a person.

Three days later, Mom called. “We need to talk. We’re planning a family dinner. Come over tonight.” Not an apology, but a summons. I went. Part of me wanted answers. The other part wanted to see if they’d even bother to pretend they were sorry.

They didn’t. When I walked in, Sarah stood with her arms crossed, Seth looked bored, and Dad was flipping through the mail.

“So,” Sarah started as I sat down. “Are we going to act like adults or what?”

“Depends,” I said. “Are you ready to confess to felony theft?”

“God, you’re so extra!” she scoffed. “It wasn’t theft. It was family money. We needed it.”