I never imagined that being kind and loyal could leave me feeling so exposed, especially not when it came to my own sister.
Three years ago, I was finally catching my breath after years of struggle. I’d just sold my flower shop, a small haven I had poured my heart into after college.
With no debts and a modest nest egg, I was ready to pause and figure out what my next chapter might look like.
Then the phone rang.
It was Lisa, sounding frantic. She and her husband, Rick, were in deep trouble — mortgage payments behind, bills mounting, and foreclosure looming.
“We just need a little breathing room,” she pleaded. “A year, max, and we’ll pay it back. I swear.”
Rick jumped on the call, too. “We’re family, Ivy. We’ll put it in writing if you want. You’d be saving us, really.”
Of course, I believed them. I told myself if the roles were reversed, they’d help me too. That was my first mistake.
