I was washing the kitchen counter after another long day at work, the faint smell of bleach in the air.
The longer I cleaned my mother’s house, the angrier I felt at my younger sister, Jane. She seemed to have completely forgotten that this was her mother, too.
This was not unusual for Jane. She was inattentive in school, ran away, stole money from her mother’s pocket, and skipped classes. Nevertheless, she was always forgiven.
Jane graduates with honors, receives a scholarship, and becomes the family’s favorite child.
Now Jane only came to see Mom when she needed something—or maybe to remind Mom of her presence so that it would remain in the will. In the meantime, I dealt with the reality of Mom’s illness.
I had hired a caregiver, Nancy, but I couldn’t afford her full-time. After the long shifts at work, I was taking care of Mom alone.
I had asked Jane for help, but she always refused. But I knew she had been unemployed for several months. I had a job, a husband, and a son who needed me too.
“Violet!” Mom called from her room. Her voice was sharp and scared.
“My gold earrings are gone,” she said in a trembling voice.
