We grew up poor. I clawed my way up and landed a great job in tech. My sister had kids young and never finished school. I’ve covered her rent, dental bills, and daycare in the past. But this time, she crossed a line. She texted me: “I need money for lip injections. I found a deal, only $450.”
At first, I thought it was a joke. I stared at my phone, rereading the message three times. Lip injections? When last month I paid to get her electricity turned back on? I didn’t even respond right away. I just tossed my phone on the couch and stared at the ceiling.
You have to understand—I love my sister. Always have. She practically raised me when our mom worked nights. But love doesn’t mean enabling. And this didn’t feel like help. It felt like a handout for vanity, not survival.
A few hours later, she texted again. “You there? I really need this. I’ve had such a rough year. I just wanna feel pretty again. Please.”
I sighed and called her.
“Hey,” she answered quickly. “Did you see my texts?”
“I did,” I said, trying to stay calm. “Why lip injections, Mira? What happened to the job at the cafe?”
She hesitated. “I quit. It was toxic. The manager kept giving me short shifts, and I couldn’t make enough for rent.”
“Mira… you didn’t tell me that. When did you quit?”
“Two weeks ago,” she admitted. “But I was gonna find something better.”
I rubbed my forehead. “And you think the next step is lip fillers?”
“They’re on special. And look, I’ve been posting online—trying to build my presence. Influencer stuff, you know?”
“Mira…”
“I’ve been trying to manifest better things. You always say I should dream bigger, right?”