I have a sister. She’s three years older than me, a single mom, always struggling, always making excuses. Her daughter, my niece, is seventeen now, practically an adult. My sister always said the girl’s father was a deadbeat. Never contributed a dime. Wouldn’t even return calls. So, about five years ago, I decided I’d do something to help my niece get a fresh start. A college fund. It wasn’t much at first. Just twenty dollars here, fifty there. Every extra shift, every skipped indulgence. I cut back on everything, telling myself it was for a good cause. For her future. My sister never put in a penny. Said she couldn’t afford it. I understood. She had enough on her plate, I figured. But I kept going. And it grew. Slowly, steadily. Until it was over $11,000.
Prom was in late April. My niece looked absolutely stunning. A vision in that emerald dress. She and her friends had a fancy black limo waiting for them outside the house. My sister, beaming, turned to me. “Oh, her dad stepped up for once,” she said, a little too casually. “Said it was his way of making up for everything. Prom’s on him.” I was surprised. Truly. A tiny spark of hope that maybe he wasn’t completely irredeemable after all. I was very happy for them. For my niece, mostly. She deserved that one night of pure magic.
The weeks after prom passed. Life returned to its usual rhythm. But something felt… off. My sister was usually so tight with money, every penny accounted for, often complaining about bills. Yet she never mentioned the dad again. Not a single word about him making contact, or how they arranged things. It just didn’t fit. I tried to brush it off. Maybe she was just grateful for the gesture and didn’t want to jinx it. But the unease lingered, a tiny splinter under my skin.
Then, a few days ago, I was helping my sister clean out some old boxes in her closet. Just clearing space. We were laughing, chatting, and then I saw it. Tucked under a pile of old yearbooks, a crumpled receipt. It was from the limo company. Dated for prom night. My heart started to beat a little faster. Just a receipt, no big deal, I told myself. But my fingers unfolded it, almost without permission. The total was significant. A four-figure sum. And then I saw the payment method.
It was a credit card. And the name printed on the receipt, right there, clear as day, was MINE. MY name. My blood ran cold. I stared at it, rereading the name, the date, the amount. This has to be a mistake. I didn’t pay for that limo. I hadn’t paid for anything for prom. I never would have given my sister my card for something like that. My hands started to shake. I made an excuse, said I felt dizzy, and rushed home. The first thing I did was log into my bank account. And there it was. Not just a charge from a credit card. Oh no.
I pulled up the statement for the college fund I had been building for my niece. The account I had carefully nurtured, penny by penny, for five years. And there, exactly two days before prom, was a massive withdrawal. The exact same four-figure sum as the limo receipt. Not just for the limo, I realized. For the dress, for the fancy dinner, for everything. My sister hadn’t just used my credit card. She had drained that money directly from the college fund. From her own daughter’s future. And then, she had looked me in the eye, that night, and lied. She blamed the ‘dad’ who supposedly stepped up. The dad she’d always painted as a villain. The dad she made me believe was reason enough for me to sacrifice my own savings.
My sister. My own sister. She stole my niece’s college fund. My niece’s future. MY hard-earned money. And spun a cruel, elaborate lie about it. All to make herself look like the benevolent one, or to avoid admitting she couldn’t afford it. I just sit here, staring at the screen, at the empty space where over eleven thousand dollars used to be. The betrayal. The audacity. I don’t know what to do. My niece adores her mother. How do I tell her? How do I even begin to untangle this? MY sister. And she just… took it. TOOK IT ALL.
