“If they stop paying that loan the bank will come after you and you will spend years fixing the damage.”
“They are my family,” I said weakly.
“They are counting on that,” Danielle replied gently. “You have helped them before and they expect you to rescue them again.”
Her words reminded me of an earlier incident when my parents had used my credit card for Dustin’s failed business supplies and quietly built up thousands of dollars in charges that I ended up paying myself because I did not want the account sent to collections. I knew she was right, yet the guilt inside my chest made it hard to say no.
Two nights later my father called and ordered me to come over after work so we could discuss the mortgage privately. When I arrived the winter sun had already disappeared behind the mountains and the garage door stood half open. The air smelled cold and sharp as I stepped inside where my father waited beside his workbench with a glass in his hand while Brittany leaned casually in the doorway.
“This situation is ridiculous,” my father began immediately. “Your sister needs help and you are refusing for no reason.”