And my sister Vanessa had been the worst of them, though she wore it as concern.

She had brought me herbs, and prayer cards, and advice about my diet and my stress and my attitude, all delivered with a sorrowful little tilt of the head.

I had paid for Vanessa’s apartment when she could not make rent.

I had quietly covered her debts, more than once.

I had given her a job at Northstar Medical when no one else would.

And watching her that night, cradling those two babies with the smug serenity of a woman who believes she has finally won something from her more successful sister, I understood, fully and for the first time, that gratitude had never once lived in her.