My mother has volunteered at our neighborhood church for over a decade. Christmas drives, Sunday service, any neighbor in trouble, she's the first one there. Everyone says God sent her to us.

She thinks so too. She says God wants her to be generous, so she is. The thing is, when no one's watching, the generosity always comes out of my pocket.

After she remarried, she doted on my half-sister Serena. Serena picked up a box of cold medicine for her, and Mom handed Serena the keys to my Tesla. Serena mentioned she needed to renew her car insurance, and Mom wired her the surgery fund I'd been saving for two years for my daughter Emma.

That afternoon, Emma collapsed on the floor, lips turning blue, gasping for air. Her medicine was crushed into the carpet. Mom fished the last pill out of her pocket and dangled it in front of me.

"Apologize to your sister, and I'll give Emma the pill."

I got on my knees.

But that same day, she gave away the cardiology appointment I'd spent three months getting. She gave it to Serena.

What she didn't know was that the name on the appointment was her own.

My mother has a thing. If anyone is kind to her, she feels indebted, and she has to pay them back, no matter what.

One winter, old Mr. Wang from downstairs carried a crate of fruit up the stairs for her. That same day she went to the supermarket and came home with a haul of groceries to give him. He said it wasn't necessary. She said it was. She couldn't live with herself otherwise.

At church, everyone knows her as the warmhearted one. Sunday service every week, first in line at the Christmas drive, first on the scene when a neighbor needs help.

She says God's eyes are always on her. She can't let her conscience slip.

Sometimes, after giving away something of mine, she'd say, "Mia, you have to learn to let go. Giving is more blessed than receiving." She genuinely believed that making me lose things was building up my virtue with God.

After she remarried, she went above and beyond for Serena. My stepfather is a quiet, decent man who barely speaks. Serena moved in with us, and Mom fussed over her constantly, said the poor girl had lost her real mother young, said she deserved extra love.

I got it. I didn't push back. But things kept tipping further.

Serena picked up a box of cold medicine for Mom, and the same day Mom handed her the keys to my Tesla.

I'd saved for three years to buy that car. I needed it for work. My office is out in the suburbs, and without it, I had to take two buses, leave the house at five-forty in the morning, and didn't get home until past eight at night.

Serena drove off in it right in front of me, and Mom said, mildly, that it was hard being a young woman, and the car was just a way to get around.

The long commute had done something to my legs. They'd flare up sometimes, and walking too far hurt. Mom told me to just get up earlier, walk to work, it'd do me good to fix my schedule anyway.

Emma is my daughter. Congenital heart defect, diagnosed at birth. The doctor said it could go off at any time, that she has to carry emergency medication, and if she has an episode, she needs it immediately or things get dangerous. She's six years old. She never throws tantrums. She's so well-behaved it breaks my heart.

Around that time, I'd been quietly working on something else for Mom. She'd mentioned her heart had been bothering her. I took her in for a check-up. The results weren't great, but I didn't tell her. I didn't want her to worry. I started hunting for an appointment with a top cardiologist behind her back. He was retiring at the end of the year, and it took me almost three months of refreshing the booking page to land a slot.

That day I came home with Emma. I hadn't even put my bag down when Mom pulled the appointment slip out of it.

"Serena, honey, you said your heart's been bothering you, right? Mia has a specialist appointment here. You take it. Think of it as my thank-you for the cold medicine."

Serena was leaning against the arm of the couch, one hand pressed to her chest, face twisted up like she was in pain. The corner of her mouth twitched up.

I swallowed, opened my mouth to speak, and then Emma collapsed.

I dropped my bag and started looking for her medicine. Tore through the bag, the couch cushions, the cabinets, the drawers. Nothing.

Mom said, in that same flat tone, "Tyler said he was curious about it. I let him play with Emma's pills for a bit."

I looked up. Tyler was dumping Emma's emergency medication out onto the floor and stomping on the pills, one by one.

That medication is imported. There's exactly one pharmacy in this city that carries it, and they're out half the time. I have an alert on my phone, and the second they're in stock, I drop everything and run over. I never want Emma's medicine to not be there.

I lunged for him. Tyler tucked his hands behind his back and grinned. "It's mine. You're a bad lady, you can't have it." I pried his hand open. The bottle was empty. Every pill inside was crushed. The bottle hit the floor with a clatter.

I looked down at Emma. Her lips were already purple. There was a backup pill in my bag, and I reached for it. Serena snatched the bag away.

She pulled the pill out, held it between her fingers, and smiled at me.

I slapped her across the face.

"What the hell are you doing? That's Emma's medicine."

The room went quiet for a beat. Serena clutched her cheek, tears welling up instantly, and turned to Mom. "Carol, look at her."

Mom stepped between us, blocking Serena. "Mia, what are you doing? Serena's heart isn't well either. What's the harm in her holding it for a second? Apologize to Serena and she'll give it back."

"Mom, Emma is dying."

Serena peeked out from behind her, voice softening. "Mia, if you're so worried about Emma, take her to the hospital. Why are you yelling at me? I didn't make her sick."

Mom nodded along. "Exactly. Take the baby to the hospital. What's the point of fighting here? Mia, just apologize."

I looked at Emma's purple lips. What choice did I have. That pill was Emma's life.

I said I was sorry.

Serena rolled the pill between her fingers. Then she tipped her head back, popped it into her mouth, and swallowed it.

"Carol, my heart's really hurting."

She raised her eyebrows at me.

I turned back. Emma was on the floor, calling for me in a thread of a voice.

I scooped her up. "Emma, hang on. We're going to the hospital." I pulled out my phone to call 911, and Mom snatched it out of my hand.

"Oh come on, you don't need an ambulance for something this small. Let her catch her breath. You're going to bother those poor paramedics for nothing, I couldn't live with that." She ended the call, rambling.

My vision started going dark. I couldn't process a word she was saying. I held Emma tight and ran for the door. The screen flashed: child lock engaged, unlocking in five minutes. She'd activated the child safety lock. The app was on the phone she'd just yanked away.

"Mom, can't you see Emma can't breathe?" Tears were sliding down my face before I could stop them.

Something in Mom's expression cracked. She looked down at Emma, at the white face and the blue lips, and took a hesitant step toward the door, like she was going to override the lock.

That was when Serena spoke up. "Mia, I know I'm not your real sister. I know you don't like me. But how could you fake all this just for attention? You're lying to Carol."

Mom seized on it like a lifeline. She hurled my phone at the floor. "Mia, you've always been like this." The screen shattered. A piece of glass kicked up and cut my cheek.

I didn't care.

I stood at the door holding Emma, watching the countdown. She was slumped against my shoulder, breathing getting shallower. I kept saying her name so she wouldn't drift off. Four minutes. Three minutes. Two minutes. The second the door clicked, I ran.

I ran with Emma in my arms until I could flag down a car, talking to her the whole way to keep her awake.

By the time we got to the hospital, my legs had given out. Someone had to help me through the doors. I started shouting the second we were inside. Someone took Emma from me and ran. I ran after them, and got stopped at the ER door.

The red light was on.

Mom had followed me. She stood next to me, talking nonstop. About how Emma was sickly. About how if I'd listened to her years ago and tried for a son instead, everything would be different.

I knew the method she meant. When Serena and I were both trying to conceive at the same time, Mom had laid out chicken soup and imported fruit for Serena. What she gave me was the rotting fruit she'd left in the back of her fridge for weeks, told me it was the same folk remedy, good for conceiving a boy.

Just thinking about the smell, my throat still goes tight.

"Enough."

I grabbed her shoulders, hard. "You handed Tyler Emma's medicine. You watched him stomp on it. And now you're standing here telling me Emma is fragile. I don't care if you love Serena. Just stop hurting my kid."

Tears were running down my face. I didn't notice.

Mom hesitated, then said, well, she'd already given the things away, she couldn't ask for them back, and besides we were at the hospital now, weren't we, nothing serious, why was I making a scene over nothing.

The ER doors swung open. The doctor's face was grim. He said Emma was in critical condition. She needed surgery immediately. Family needed to sign and pay.

"Okay, okay." I was grateful, in that moment, that I had savings set aside. I went to pay.

I pulled out my cracked phone with shaking hands.

Balance: zero.

I stared at the number for a few seconds. It didn't register. I'd been putting money in that account for two years. The day Emma was diagnosed, I opened it. Every payday, I moved money in first. Last year my coworkers planned a trip to Hawaii; I skipped it and the airfare went in there. I'd never touched that account. It was for Emma. For an emergency.

I looked up at my mother.

She said Serena had mentioned this morning that her car insurance was due. She'd felt bad. She'd transferred it from my account. Then she paused. "Mia, what's wrong with that account? Even I can't authorize a transfer from it. That's not right, sweetheart. Family shouldn't have walls like that."

I didn't say anything.

She'd already given away one Tesla. Now she'd cleaned out the emergency fund.

I stood there. I didn't move.

That was when Serena walked in. Smiling. "Sorry, drove slow, didn't want to scratch the new car. You good?"

Emma had just been wheeled out of the ER.

That car had been bought with the surgery fund I'd been building for two years.

Emma had almost died today, because her medicine wasn't there.

Her medicine wasn't there because my mother handed it to Tyler.

My mother thought that was fine, because Tyler said he was curious.

And here was Serena, in my car, asking me if I was okay.

"Family, please sign and pay. We don't have time to wait."

I called someone and asked to borrow money. I said the number. My voice was shaking. They said yes. I paid the deposit, signed the papers. My hands still weren't steady.

I looked up and saw my mother holding Serena's hand, fussing over her.

I took two steps forward, lowered my voice. "Give back the money you took from my mother."

Mom got there first. "Mia, Emma just got out of surgery. Why aren't you with her? What are you doing?"

Serena's eyes welled up. In front of Mom, she sobbed about how she'd never really fit into this family, how she still made the effort to come see Carol anyway. I slapped her. The whole hall went quiet. A security guard grabbed me, but I was still screaming at her to give the money back.

My mother stood there for a moment before she walked over. She touched Serena's red cheek. She looked at me with that disappointed expression and said the money was hers to give. Said Serena had done so much for her, she'd earned it. Said God would remember Serena's kindness.

Dad died young. The whole neighborhood had been waiting to see how my mother treated Serena. So she used my things to shut them up. To herself, she was a merciful servant in God's eyes. But for the smallest scraps of kindness from Serena, she would sacrifice me again. And again. And again.

Everything in my ears went to a low ringing. My mother's mouth was opening and closing in slow motion. Serena's face had that smug look. She'd won.

Then Serena reached into her bag and pulled out the appointment slip. The one from the apartment. She'd been holding onto it the whole time. "Mia, you left this at home. The specialist appointment, give it to me, won't you?"

I turned to look at Serena. She was still standing in the same spot, the slip clutched in her hand, watching me like she was waiting.

I walked up to her and stopped.

"What gives you the right to take my appointment?"

Serena sighed. "My heart isn't well either, and I'm older. Treatment's harder at my age. Emma's young, she has options. No other hospital has a specialist like this. I looked it up. You need connections and you need time. I can't go through that."

I glanced at my mother, who was standing there silent. "You can get a check-up at any hospital. A specialist appointment is a different story. I'm not giving it to you."

"Carol, if Mia would just give me the appointment, I'd do anything for you. Anything." Her knees went out and she dropped down in front of Mom, eyes streaming.

I grabbed Mom's wrist before she could reach for Serena. "Mom. You actually want me to give it to her? Do you know what I went through for this slip? Even Serena knows you can't get it without time and the right connections. Just this once. Can you be on my side?" My eyes were stinging. I held her gaze. Just this once. She could choose me.

Mom held my hand with one of hers and Serena's with the other, that familiar pained look on her face. She didn't speak.

The hope I'd been holding onto dropped out of me.

I should have known. When we were kids, Serena washed dishes once and got taken to the amusement park. I washed dishes every day and got told it was my job. Nothing had changed.

I laughed, dry, and was about to open my mouth when a wave of people poured into the hospital lobby. Phones, cameras, mics. They were heading straight for us. "We heard there's a story here." Reporters elbowing each other, eyes lit up.

Serena wiped her face. Trembling, she said she'd called them. She wanted to start a fundraiser for Emma. Every camera swiveled to me.

"Ma'am, what's going on? We're on your side, we're here for the truth."

"Look at this sister, bringing reporters in for her niece. What a loving family."

"Family helping family. What a story."

Mom looked a little overwhelmed by the noise. She tugged at Serena's sleeve and whispered something about how this was too much, weren't they bothering people again. She had that anxious, eager-to-please smile, counting on her fingers like she was already calculating what she'd owe them. Serena pretended not to hear. She dabbed her eyes and pivoted. "We're family. None of this means anything to me. The problem is Mia. She doesn't appreciate me. She's trying to take the specialist appointment from me." She dropped her head, and a single tear hit the floor right on cue. A camera caught it.

Microphones swarmed me. "Your sister was trying to help. Why don't you appreciate her?" "You're ungrateful. Care to explain?"

People around us started chiming in. Saying I'd just slapped my own sister. Saying I'd been spoiled rotten. Saying my family had been so good to me and I was nothing but ungrateful. The voices piled up until I was drowning in them.

I looked at my mother. She was hunched in the corner. "Mom. What do you say?"

She got nudged forward to stand next to me. She lowered her voice. "Mia, look, Serena even brought reporters for Emma. She's so good to you. You can't owe her this. Just give her the appointment. Everyone's watching. Don't make a scene. You can always book it again next time."

She paused. "You've always been such a good girl. That's what I tell everyone. Just this once. Give your mother some face out here."

The corner of my mouth twitched up. I laughed.

The light over the ER flipped from red to green. The doctor wheeled Emma out and said she was stable, just needed rest.

I looked at Emma's little face. I touched her cheek. After she was settled in her room, I turned back to my mother.

"Well, since Mom says so. Fine. Serena gets it. Why wait? Let's go change the patient information right now." I leaned in close to Serena.

Serena raised her eyebrows, the corners of her mouth lifting. "No takebacks, then."

I just held my mother's eyes, watching them drop. "No takebacks."

I sidestepped her hand when she reached for my shoulder, and headed for the registration desk. Serena trailed after me, the reporters in tow.

There was someone ahead of me. I stood and waited. Serena stood next to me. Cameras rolling.

My number was called. I walked up.

"You want to change the booking? Is the patient here?"

"She's here."

Serena scoffed. "What patient? Your little sickly kid is in her hospital room. Are you stupid?" My mother pressed the back of her hand to my forehead, took it away, did it again. "Mia, are you exhausted, sweetheart? Should you rest?"

The doctor looked up. "Specialist appointments are hard to come by. You only get one name change. Are you sure?"

Something moved in my chest. I turned to my mother one more time. "You really want me to give this appointment to Serena?"

She paused. Then she said it again. "We can't be in debt to Serena. It's for everyone's sake. The appointment has to be transferred. Emma's surgery was a success, she's out of the woods. Holding onto it now is just wasteful. God will remember your kindness, Mia."

I knew that expression. I knew that line. Every time it came out, I lost something. The Tesla. The emergency fund. Emma's medicine. Today, this appointment slip.

Fine. Transfer it.

Serena stood beside me, the corner of her mouth already curled up.

I slid the file across the desk.

"Patient name. Carol."