My hands trembled as I dialed emergency services. The dispatcher listened carefully and assured me an officer would arrive soon to take a report. While waiting outside in the cooling air with my takeout bag in my hands, I decided to call my father. When I purchased the car he had helped me research security features, so I thought he might have advice about tracking systems or insurance claims.

He answered on the third ring.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said casually.

“Dad, someone stole my car,” I said. “I just got home and it is gone.”

There was a pause.

Then he laughed.

“Nobody stole your car,” he replied. “Your mother and I gave it to Alyssa. She needs it more than you.”

For several seconds I could not understand the words I had just heard.

“What do you mean you gave it to her?” I asked slowly.

“Your sister is having a baby soon,” he said. “You are single and live close to the hospital. She needs reliable transportation.”

“But that car belongs to me,” I said. “I paid it off two weeks ago.”

“Do not be dramatic,” he answered. “We are family. Families share resources.”

“She does not even have a driver’s license,” I said.