My sister’s son hurled a dinner fork at me and declared, “Mom says you’re basically the help.” The table erupted in laughter. I was gone before dessert ever reached the plates.

“You’ve been nothing but generous,” she continued, words tumbling out like she’d been holding them behind her teeth. “And I treated you like—like—”

“Like the help,” I said.

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Like the help. I’m a terrible person.”

“You were,” I said quietly. “Yes.”

There was a startled silence. I don’t think she expected my agreement.

“I don’t know why,” she whispered. “Maybe jealousy. Maybe I couldn’t stand that my little sister was doing better than me. I liked thinking I was… ahead.”

I remembered the little darts over the years—still in that tiny apartment? not everyone wants to work so much, Nina. you’re lucky you don’t have kids, all that free time to make money.

Jokes that weren’t jokes. Needles disguised as laughter.

“I taught Aiden to disrespect you,” she said. “I made fun of you to my friends. I told everyone you were struggling, that you only helped with the down payment by cashing out savings—anything that made it sound like I didn’t owe you everything.”

Her breathing shuddered.

“I liked the way it made me look,” she admitted. “I liked being the one with the house.”

I closed my eyes.

Hearing the truth hurt. But it also… settled something. Like a toothache finally being named.