When our mother got sick, my sister Rachel stepped in as her full-time caregiver. I thought I knew why — to make herself look good, just like always. Rachel had a history of being unreliable, while I was the responsible one. We were never close.
After our dad left, Mom raised us alone. I helped her, followed the rules, built a life. Rachel drifted — odd jobs, little contact. So when Mom’s health declined, and Rachel moved in to care for her, I was skeptical. I lived out of state with a job and kids, but Rachel lived nearby. Still, it felt out of character. She took over everything: meds, doctor visits, routines. I visited when I could, but always felt shut out. Rachel dismissed my suggestions, handled it all herself. I figured she was trying to redeem herself.