I lent my sister my car for a month while I recovered from surgery. When I got it back, I was ready for a life-changing interview, but the engine sputtered to a stop. My sister hadn’t refilled the tank.
Her careless excuse cost me my job and she was about to learn exactly what my kindness was worth. I’ve always been the sister who says yes. The one who drops everything when family calls.
Maybe that’s my biggest flaw. Three months ago, I went under the knife. Nothing dramatic, but serious enough that the doctor wagged his finger at me.
“One month of rest, Rebecca. No driving until you heal. No working.
Just rest.”
I nodded like a good patient. What choice did I have? Two days into my recovery, my older sister Kathy called.
Her voice cracked through the phone like broken glass. “Becky, I’m totally screwed. My car just died on me.”
I shifted on my couch, wincing as my stitches pulled.
“What happened?”
“The mechanic says it needs a new transmission. Costs around $3,000.” She let out a shaky breath. “I don’t have three grand.
Hell, I barely have $300 in my checking account.”
A long pause stretched between us. “Becky, I hate to ask this, but… could I maybe borrow your car? Just until mine’s fixed?”
My Honda sat in the driveway like a loyal dog waiting for its owner.
I hadn’t touched it in weeks. “Of course!” I said without hesitation. “What?
Really? You’d actually let me borrow it?”
“You’re my sister, Kathy. I’m stuck on this couch for four more weeks anyway.
The car’s just sitting there collecting dust.”
Her voice went soft, almost childlike. The way it used to sound when we were kids and she needed something. “Are you absolutely sure?
I don’t want to impose or anything.”
“Dead serious. Just take care of it like it’s yours, okay?”
“I will. I swear on Mom’s grave, I will.
God, Becky, you’re literally saving my life right now.”
For four weeks, our arrangement worked like clockwork. She even drove me to the doctor’s appointment once. “See?” she said that afternoon, sliding into the driver’s seat after my appointment.
“This is working out perfectly. I help you, you help me. Win-win situation.”
I watched her adjust my mirrors and change my radio station to some pop nonsense I couldn’t stand.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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