“I can’t pay back $18,400!”

“Then send me a realistic repayment plan.”

“I’m your sister. You can’t treat me like a collection agency.”

“You treated me like an ATM for six years.”

A silence.

Then, smaller: “Dad decided the dinner menu, Danae.

Not me.”

“You fed your dog filet mignon while handing my six-year-old a dry roll.”

“Biscuit has a prescription diet!” she snapped.

The excuse was so perfectly absurd that it almost made me laugh out loud in my kitchen.