At six in the evening, Uncle Charles, Aunt Anna, and Second Aunt showed up at my house together.

The moment they walked in, they sat down at the dining table without so much as a greeting.

"Oh my, sister-in-law, look at these dishes. My brother's not here, and this is how you treat guests?"

"You knew we were coming and didn't even bother to buy groceries ahead of time. You're not taking us seriously, are you?"

Mom looked embarrassed and was about to explain when I stepped in front of her.

"Sounds like Uncle Charles doesn't want to eat today. Then let's talk about paying back the money."

He choked, but instead of responding to me, he turned to my mom.

"What? Is Carrie the one in charge of this household now? My brother isn't dead yet. Since when does a junior get to speak?"

Mom shot me a look, then turned back to the three of them.

"You know Dale's sick. Carrie and I have been at the hospital nonstop—there's barely any food in the house. We rushed back at the last minute and didn't have time to shop. How about this—Uncle Charles, tell me what you want to eat, and I'll run out to a restaurant and pick something up."

She reached to untie her apron.

Watching her, my nose stung so hard I almost cried.

For as long as I could remember, because Dad was the eldest, he took care of his younger siblings. And as the eldest sister-in-law, Mom took care of them too. Every holiday, over a dozen relatives would show up expecting to be fed, and it was always just Mom and me in the kitchen. I complained. I protested. But my parents always said the same thing:

"Before your grandparents died, they made me promise to look after my brother and sisters. I can't break my word."

I stopped Mom from untying her apron and turned to the three of them, their faces still pinched with disapproval.

"Let's talk business first. Uncle Charles, Aunt Anna, Second Aunt—do you remember what I said in the group chat today?"

Uncle Charles cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Come on, kid, we're family. Why say things that hurt feelings? Caroline, you're not that young anymore. You know the economy's been rough these past two years—making money isn't easy. If we had it, would we hold it back? Cut us some slack. Besides, we are helping with your dad's situation. Didn't I transfer you money today?"

Second Aunt chimed in. "Exactly, Carrie. You think running my beauty salon's been easy? It's been losing money—I have no choice. Your dad's my own brother. You think I don't want to help? I just don't have the money. If I did, I wouldn't hesitate."

I looked at the three of them and almost laughed.

"Is that so? No money?"

"Uncle Charles, didn't you spend all of last month bragging that Brittany Abbott got promoted and found herself a rich boyfriend? That you'd be set for life?"

"And Second Aunt—business has been so bad, but you've opened three or four new branches, haven't you? Flying to Bali one week, France the next. Your social media can barely fit all your Hermès."

"Oh, and Aunt Anna—didn't you just pay the down payment on a house for Marcus Abbott? That high-end development downtown? Thirty to forty thousand per square meter. Any unit there costs several million, right?"

My throat tightened. I steadied myself and kept going.

"My dad dropped out of school at fifteen to put every single one of you through college. Even after you got married, he kept helping however he could, terrified you might struggle."

"Now he's lying in a hospital bed, and we didn't even ask you for money. We sold our car. Our house. Everything—to pay for his treatment."

"All we want is the money he lent you. We're not even asking for interest. Why is that so hard?"

Every word landed like a hammer. Uncle Charles, Aunt Anna, and Grandma's faces cycled through pale, then red.

Uncle Charles jabbed a finger at me. "Y-you—you—" He sputtered, unable to form a sentence.

Aunt Anna shot to her feet, probably realizing he had no comeback.

"What's that supposed to mean? That money's ours. We don't need your family's permission to spend it!"

"If we choose to help, that's generosity. If we don't, you have no right to guilt-trip us!"

"Your dad lent us that money willingly. Nobody forced him!"

The dinner ended exactly how you'd expect.

When Mom and I rushed back to the hospital, Dad was still awake. He lay in his bed, watching us with hope written all over his face.

I didn't sugarcoat anything. I told him everything—every word Uncle Charles and the others had said, repeated exactly.

Dad didn't respond. He just lay there, silent.

After a long moment, I heard it. Soft, broken sobs, coming from the bed.

I sighed and stepped out of the room.

I didn't know how to comfort him.

These were his siblings. The brother and sister he'd grown up with, protected, sacrificed for over decades.

No matter how brutal the truth was to accept, I couldn't carry even a fraction of that weight for him.

I didn't go back in all night. I dozed on a hallway bench until dawn started creeping through the windows.

Then I got up and headed home to make breakfast for Mom and Dad.

Walking out of the apartment building, I spotted the lottery shop by the entrance. Something pulled me inside.

When I was little, Dad once told me something I never forgot.

"Never be afraid of hitting rock bottom."

"Because once you're there, the only way left is up."

I'd never bought a lottery ticket in my life. I had the clerk print me a random Quick Pick for the Double Chromosphere.

I tucked it away, grabbed the insulated food container, and hurried back to the hospital.

In the room, I found Joseph Walsh—Mom's older brother.

He had his arms around Mom while she cried, murmuring comfort, a bank card clutched tight in his hand.

"It's okay. I'm here. Take this and use it first."

My eyes burned.

Uncle Joseph caught sight of me in the doorway and waved me over.

"Carrie, there you are. Your mom told me everything. Don't worry—we'll figure this out together."

"As for your dad's relatives..." He paused. "I already talked to Rachel Walsh. Give her a call."

Rachel. Of course—she was a lawyer.

For debt collection, she was exactly who we needed.

I handed Mom the food container and stepped out to make the call.

Rachel moved fast. The very next morning, my phone exploded with messages in the family group chat.

Over a dozen notifications. My hand practically went numb from the vibrations.

"Caroline Gilbert! Are you fucking crazy? We borrowed a little money and you're seriously suing us?"

"We're family! What do you gain from dragging us to court? Does your dad know about this? Does he know his own daughter is being this disrespectful to her elders?"

"I'm warning you—don't push us too far. Worst case, we all go down together!"

I ignored their cursing.

When I went to find Rachel, I'd already expected this outcome.

I was only worried about Dad.

I glanced at him on the hospital bed. He was staring blankly at his phone, lost in thought.

Before I could speak, he noticed my gaze and forced a smile.

"It's okay, Carrie. I was prepared for this."

Relieved, I lowered my head and replied to their messages in the group chat.

"I tried to handle this properly. You refused. So don't blame me now."

"Cut the nonsense. Either pay up, or I'm taking this to court."

Their responses came instantly—voice messages, each over thirty seconds long.

"Fine, fine, fine, Caroline Gilbert. You really want to do this?"

"Then sue! Go ahead! Your dad transferred that money to us himself. No IOU. No proof it was ever a loan!"

"You won't see a single cent of that money!"

A bunch of legal illiterates.

I snorted, stopped replying, and left the group chat.

I thought that would be the end of it—the rest could go through legal channels.

But that afternoon, Uncle Charles showed up at the hospital with Aunt Anna and Aunt Hailey in tow.

I was in the washroom scrubbing Dad's dirty clothes when I heard a commotion from his room.

I rushed back to find Uncle Charles jabbing a finger at Dad's face, shouting.

"Big brother, we've been real brothers for decades, and you're just gonna let your daughter bully your own siblings like this?"

"What did Mom and Dad tell you? As the oldest, is this how you look after us?"

"When you die, how will you face them?"

I wanted to explode, but Dad spoke first.

"I've been in the hospital all this time, and not once did you come see me. Now you show up just to curse at me and your sister-in-law."

"Think about everything that's happened. Hand on your heart—haven't I been a good enough older brother?"

"You're the ones who won't be able to face Mom and Dad. Even if I die today, I can tell them my conscience is clear. Can you?"

Uncle Charles's chest heaved with rage.

Aunt Anna stepped forward to back him up.

"Alright, big brother. Here's three thousand dollars. The three of us pooled it together. Take it, and stop saying we wronged you."

"We're done talking. The money's right here. Have Carrie drop the lawsuit. Don't make this uglier than it has to be."

"If we all go down together, you won't come out clean either."

I pushed past them to Dad's bedside, picked up the stack of bills, and weighed it in my hand.

"Aunt Anna's family: one hundred thousand. Uncle Charles's family: fifty thousand. Aunt Hailey's family: two hundred thousand. I won't even bother with the smaller amounts. Just what I can count comes to three hundred fifty thousand."

"And you want to settle with three thousand? Do I look like an idiot to you?"

Aunt Hailey thrust a red-manicured finger in my face.

"Stop spouting nonsense! You say three hundred fifty thousand—where's the proof? Where's the IOU?"

"We're only giving you this three thousand because we're family. Push us any further, and you won't see a single cent!"