Shortly after he was born, my parents said they had to work during the day and couldn't stay up at night. So they told me to step up and be an older sister.
They slept soundly while I mixed formula, patted his back, and coaxed him to sleep. Some nights I got maybe two hours.
Anything at school that cost money—workbooks, field trips—got cut. No matter how much I cried or begged, Dad just hardened his face and said one thing.
"Money's tight. If we can save somewhere, we save. You're the older sister—stop being so immature."
When Ryan wanted to go out and play, they'd pull me out of class. Even if I missed lessons, I still had to wander aimlessly around the apartment complex with him.
After a while, my grades tanked.
I begged them, practically on my knees.
"I'm still a student—how can I spend all my time taking care of a kid? If this keeps up, what about my future? I still have to take the college entrance exam!"
Mom just looked at me.