I brought them inside and made tea in my mother’s blue ceramic teapot.

Linda sat at my kitchen table, her hands shaking as she held the mug.

“They’re taking the house, Sarah,” she sobbed. “The bank sent the notice.

We are 3 months behind. If we don’t pay 5,000 dollars by 5 PM today, they are starting the foreclosure.”

She looked at the teapot on the counter. “Remember how Mom always said family is the only thing that matters? Please, Sarah. We have nowhere to go. I promise we will pay you back as soon as Greg’s new contract pays out. 6 months, tops.”

I looked at her. I looked at the tears.

I didn’t ask to see the bank statements. I didn’t ask for a contract. I didn’t make them sign a promissory note. This was my sister. Maybe I was stupid for trusting my own sister. I keep going back and forth about whether I should have been harder on them from the start. But I just wanted to help.

I went to the Lansing State Bank, withdrew 5,000 dollars in a cashier’s check, and handed it to her.

She grabbed my hand and cried onto my coat. She swore on our mother’s memory she would repay me.

“Don’t worry about it now,” I said. “Just save your house.”

6 months passed.

Then 1 year.

Greg’s contract supposedly paid out, but the money didn’t come to me. Instead, Greg bought a brand new pontoon boat. They parked it in their driveway, showing it off to the neighbors.

Linda posted pictures on Facebook. They were in Florida, drinking cocktails on a boat. Linda was holding a brand-new digital camera.

Still, she said nothing about the 5,000 dollars. Am I crazy for thinking they would remember what they promised?

I told myself to be patient. I didn’t want to start a family feud over money. I lived on my pension, clipping my coupons, buying the cheap store-brand bread at Meijer, and keeping my old Chevy running.

Then, my roof started leaking.

It was a bad leak. Every time it rained, water dripped through the ceiling in my hallway, staining the drywall. The local contractor came out and gave me an estimate. 4,800 dollars for a complete repair.

I didn’t have 4,800 dollars in my account anymore. The 5,000 dollars I had lent Linda was my safety net.

So, I drove over to Linda’s house on a Sunday afternoon.

Her house was beautiful. They had just remodeled the kitchen with granite countertops and new cabinets. And there, sitting on her new counter, was my mother’s blue ceramic teapot. Linda had borrowed it 1 year ago for a tea party she hosted, and she had never brought it back.