My sister is thirty-three, juggling three kids, three fathers, and a lifetime of chaos she never really learned to control. I stepped in because the kids didn’t deserve to drown in the fallout. Four days a week, I babysat for free. I cooked meals. I picked them up from daycare when she forgot. I told myself I was helping her get back on her feet. But sometimes you don’t realize you’re being used until the smallest voice in the room tells the truth. One afternoon, her five-year-old tugged on my shirt and whispered, “Auntie, Mommy hid your shiny money box...
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