“We didn’t order for your son.” My sister said, handing him a bread basket while her kids ate $100 steaks and dessert. My dad added, “You should have packed him something.” I just smiled and said, “Noted.” When the waiter came back, I stood up and announced, “I’ve spent most of my adult life cleaning up after my sister’s messes. Financial, emotional, even babysitting her kids while she went on her last-minute emergency getaways. I did it without much thanks, always hearing the same line from our parents, ‘She’s going through >> >> as if I wasn’t.’ Jill’s life has always been one dramatic mess after another, >> >> but somehow she still manages to land softly because someone else is always catching her. Usually me. And our parents, they act like she’s this fragile, helpless creature who can’t be held accountable for anything. Meanwhile, I’m the reliable one, the stable one, the one who never gets a break. So, when I offered to pay for our parents’ 40th anniversary dinner, a night I genuinely hoped would be a peaceful gathering, it was a big deal.