I’ve always been the sister who says “yes.” The one who drops everything when family calls, the one who lends, gives, and sacrifices without thinking twice.
Looking back now, maybe that’s my biggest flaw.
Three months ago, I had surgery. Nothing dramatic, but serious enough that my doctor wagged his finger at me like a strict teacher.
“One month of rest, Rebecca. No driving until you heal. No work. Just rest.”
I nodded, feeling like a grounded teenager. What choice did I have?
Two days into my recovery, I was curled up on the couch when my phone rang. My older sister Kathy’s voice exploded through the line, sharp and panicked.
“Becky, I’m totally screwed. My car just died.”
I winced as my stitches tugged when I shifted. “What happened?”
“The mechanic says the transmission’s gone. Three thousand dollars to fix it. I don’t have that kind of money. Hell, I barely have $300 in my checking account.”
Silence filled the air for a moment before she spoke again, softer this time.
“Becky… could I maybe borrow your car? Just until mine’s fixed?”
I glanced out the window at my silver Honda sitting lonely in the driveway. I hadn’t touched it in weeks.
“Of course!” I blurted without thinking.
“What? Really? You’d actually let me borrow it?”
“You’re my sister, Kathy. I can’t drive for four weeks anyway. It’s just sitting there collecting dust.”
Her voice dropped into that sweet, almost childlike tone she used to have when we were kids.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.”
“I’m dead serious. Just take care of it like it’s your own, okay?”
“I will. I swear on Mom’s grave, I will. God, Becky, you’re saving my life right now.”
For the next month, everything seemed fine. She even drove me to one of my doctor’s checkups.
“See?” she grinned as we left the clinic. “This works perfectly. I help you, you help me. Win-win.”
I noticed her fiddling with my mirrors and blasting some pop song I couldn’t stand, but I bit my tongue.
Family helps family, I reminded myself.
By week four, she came bouncing into my house one afternoon, my keys jingling like bells.
“Guess what? My car’s ready! They found a used transmission that won’t completely bankrupt me.”
“That’s great news!” I said, smiling. Not just because her car was fixed—because I could finally drive myself again. I had a big job interview the very next morning. Morrison & Associates. A position I’d been chasing for months. This was my shot at finally getting my finances back on track.
“Tonight after work, I’ll pick mine up,” she said, tossing my keys on the counter. “Thanks again, little sis. You literally saved me.”
That night, I laid out my best blazer, pressed my resume until it was perfect, and went to bed feeling hopeful for the first time in months.
Morning came, sunlight pouring in through my curtains. I grabbed my portfolio and keys, practically skipping to the driveway.
I turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered for half a second, coughed, and died.
“What?!” My heart pounded as I tried again. Same sound.
Panicked, I called Kathy.
“Hey there!” she chirped.
“My car won’t start. Did something happen? Did you notice anything wrong?”
“Um… maybe it’s out of gas?”
I froze. “Out of gas?”
“Yeah. I didn’t fill it before bringing it back. I figured you’d handle that yourself.”
“Kathy, my interview is in an hour!”
“Oh… right. That’s today?” Her tone was maddeningly casual.
“Yes! I told you three times!”
“Okay, okay, don’t freak out. Just get an Uber or something.”
“Kathy, do you have any idea how expensive that is right now?”
“Look, I can’t change it. Just figure it out.”
And she hung up.
Every rideshare app told me the same thing—too long a wait. By the time I got one, I was thirty minutes late.
The receptionist at Morrison & Associates gave me a polite but icy smile.
“I’m so sorry,” I rushed out. “My car wouldn’t start and—”
“Ms. Morrison had to leave for another appointment. We’ll move forward with the other candidates.”
Just like that, months of hope evaporated.
Back home, I sat at the kitchen table, head in my hands, when Dad walked in.
“What happened, honey?”
I told him everything—about the empty tank, the missed interview, Kathy’s careless attitude.
His jaw tightened. “Don’t cry. I love both my daughters, but Kathy needs to learn what kindness costs. Invite her to dinner tonight.”
When I called, Kathy sounded thrilled.
“Dad’s making pot roast? With those little potatoes I love? Count me in!”
She arrived at six sharp with a bunch of daisies, all smiles.
“Something smells amazing in here,” she said, kissing Dad’s cheek like she hadn’t wrecked my future hours earlier.
Dinner started like any other Sunday—passing food, chatting about nonsense—until Dad set down his knife.
“Kathy, I’ve been thinking about generosity. About how your sister lent you her car for a month. No questions asked.”
Kathy beamed. “She really is the best sister in the world!”
“And you returned it empty,” Dad continued. “She missed a crucial job interview today because of you.”
Her smile faltered. “Dad, I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean what? To be thoughtless? You could’ve put five dollars of gas in the tank. Instead, you went out for dinner Tuesday night. I saw it on Instagram.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
Dad left the table, came back with a red gas can. “You’re filling her tank tonight. And paying back every dollar of gas you used.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Fair is returning something the way you got it,” Dad said sharply.
Kathy filled my tank in silence. The next day, she shoved an envelope of cash into my hands.
“Here’s your precious gas money,” she muttered.
“Thank you,” I said evenly.
She turned to leave, then spun back.
“You turned Dad against me over twenty bucks of gas?”
“No, Kathy. You did that yourself.”
“You’re being dramatic—it was an honest mistake!”
“Honest? You used my car for a month, knowing I had that interview, and still left it empty. That’s not a mistake—that’s selfish.”
Her face went pale when I brought up her dinner at Romano’s. She muttered something and left without looking back.
I used that cash to get to another interview across town. The hiring manager loved my work, and I started the following Monday.
Now, I’m back on my feet. My savings is growing. I sleep without worrying about bills.
Kathy and I barely speak. Some might call that sad—I call it an expensive education.
Here’s what I learned: kindness has value, and if people don’t respect it, they’ll learn exactly what that value costs.