The Family ATM

The notification sound from my phone cut through the silence of my empty apartment like a knife. Another text from mom. I didn’t need to look to know what it would say. Something about difficult times and how they really needed my help right now. My name is Nora, and for the past eight years, I’ve been the family ATM. I set down my lukewarm coffee and picked up the phone.

Sure enough, sweetheart, things are getting tight again. The mortgage company sent another notice. Could you maybe send a little extra this month? Just until Dad’s business picks up. Love you so much, Aguko.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. The same script every month. Sometimes it was the mortgage. Sometimes it was unexpected expenses. Always urgent, always desperate, always my problem to solve. Another family emergency. I looked up to find Jessica from accounting standing by my cubicle, holding two cups of coffee. She’d been trying to get me to join the office happy hours for months. Something like that.

I took the coffee gratefully. “Thanks,” I muttered, still staring at my phone.

“You know, Nora,” Jessica began, leaning against the edge of my cubicle, “you look exhausted. When’s the last time you did something fun? Something just for you?”

I laughed, but it came out hollow. “Fun is a luxury I can’t afford right now.”

“Come on, one drink,” she urged, raising one of the coffee cups. “There’s this new place downtown. I can’t even remember the last time we did something like that.”

I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said, already pulling up my banking app to see how much I could transfer without overdrafting.

“I have responsibilities,” I added.

Jessica’s face softened. “Your family’s lucky to have someone like you.”

Lucky, right? I thought bitterly, tapping on my phone as I calculated how much I could spare without sinking myself deeper. I sent the money—$1,200 this time—and watched my savings dwindle further. The same account that should have been funding my own life, my own dreams, my own future. Instead, it was a lifeline I threw to people who never seemed to learn how to swim.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, 28 years old, living in a studio apartment with furniture from thrift stores, eating ramen for dinner three nights a week, while my little sister, Ria, posted Instagram stories from art galleries and wine tastings. My phone buzzed again. This time it was Ria herself.

OMG, Nora. Mom and dad are planning the most amazing anniversary party next month. Wish you could be here, but I know how busy you are with work. Love you, sis. Attached was a photo of what looked like expensive floral arrangements and a catering menu.

Anniversary party with what money? I scrolled through Ria’s recent posts. Designer coffee, new art supplies, a weekend trip to the mountains with her boyfriend Danny. All while I was supposedly keeping the family from losing their house.

“You’re doing it again,” I looked up. Jessica was still there, watching me with concern.

“Doing what?” I asked, trying to mask my frustration.

“That thing where you get this look on your face like someone just told you your dog died.”

I locked my phone and shoved it in my drawer. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Jessica’s voice softened further. “And you know what? You don’t have to be fine all the time. You don’t have to carry everyone else’s problems.”

Her words hit something deep in my chest, but I pushed the feeling down. I’d gotten good at that over the years.

“I should get back to work,” I said.

Jessica nodded, but she didn’t move.

“You know what you should do?” she said, a determined look in her eyes. “Surprise them. Show up to this anniversary party. Let them celebrate you for once instead of just taking from you.”

After she left, I sat staring at my computer screen, not seeing the spreadsheets and reports. Jessica’s words echoed in my head.

When was the last time my family had celebrated me? When was the last time I’d felt appreciated instead of just useful? I pulled out my phone and opened the airline app before I could talk myself out of it. A flight home for next weekend, mom and dad’s anniversary. It would cost me, but maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to see the gratitude in their faces when they realized everything I’d sacrificed for them.

Maybe it was time to finally be the hero of my own story.

The Uber driver pulled into my parents’ driveway, and I felt my stomach drop. There, parked right in front of the house, was a brand new red convertible with a giant white bow on the hood.

“Nice ride,” the driver said, whistling low. “Someone’s having a good day.”

I stared at the car. It had to cost at least $40,000. Maybe more.

“Yeah, I managed. Someone is,” I muttered. I paid the driver and grabbed my overnight bag, my hands shaking slightly. There had to be an explanation. Maybe it was a rental for the anniversary party. Maybe it belonged to one of dad’s business clients.

The front door opened before I could knock.

“Nora.” Mom appeared, but her smile looked forced. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” I said weakly. “I wanted to be here for your anniversary.”

“Oh, well, that’s unexpected.” She glanced back into the house nervously. “We weren’t really planning on Nora.”

Ria bounded out, practically glowing. She looked amazing. New haircut, designer jeans, jewelry I’d never seen before.

“You’re just in time. Come see my graduation present.”

“Graduation present?” I repeated.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Ria said, grinning as she grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the convertible. “Dad said I deserved something special for finishing my art degree. And Danny loves it. We took it up the coast last weekend.”

I walked around the car like I was in a trance. The leather seats were pristine. The paint job was flawless. The price tag was probably more than I made in 6 months.

“How did you guys afford this?”

Ria laughed. “Oh, you know, Dad. He’s got his ways.”

“Come on, let’s go inside. Everyone’s here for the party planning.”

The house was buzzing with activity. Caterers were setting up in the kitchen. A florist was arranging centerpieces in the dining room. Everything looked expensive. Everything looked perfect. And nobody seemed surprised to see me.

“Nora.” Dad appeared, arms spread wide. “What a nice surprise. He hugged me, but it felt perfunctory, like he was going through the motions.

“I wanted to be here for your anniversary,” I said again.

“Oh, of course. Of course. Well, you’re just in time to see how well everything’s coming together. Your mother’s outdone herself this year.”

I looked around at the chaos of preparations. This must be costing a fortune.

Dad waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. We’re doing just fine.”

“But the mortgage payments?” I asked, my voice a little too sharp.

“What mortgage payments?” He laughed. “Sweetheart, we paid that off years ago.”

The room seemed to tilt. “What?”

“The house has been paid off for three years now. Thanks to all your help, of course.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Three years?

“Oh, yes. You really saved us, Nora. All those transfers you sent—they added up to quite a nest egg. But you kept asking for money. You said you were behind on payments.”

Dad’s smile never wavered.

“Well, there were other expenses.”

“What other expenses?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Ria’s school, the renovations, this party, family investments, you know.”

“Family investments.” Exactly. And look how well it’s all worked out. Ria’s graduated. The house is beautiful. And we’re finally able to enjoy ourselves a little.**

I watched Ria pose for selfies next to her new car through the window. She was laughing carefree, radiant.

“How did you afford this?” I whispered to myself.

The rest of the day was a blur of fake smiles, champagne, and me feeling like I had been transported into some surreal version of my life, one where I was the supporting player to my sister’s fairy tale, with everyone too caught up in their own world to notice the strings that were pulling me along. I finally excused myself and went to the back porch, needing to breathe.

The next few hours were spent drinking wine and pretending everything was fine.

But everything wasn’t fine.

I was staring at my phone, considering all the implications of what had happened, when I received a text from Ria.

“You need to call mom, she’s been crying all night. We really need to talk about all this.”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and finally sent her a message back.

“I’m done, Ria. You and mom, you’ve made it clear where your priorities lie. But I won’t keep enabling this.”

“Please,” she responded quickly. “Can we talk in person?”

I stood up, feeling a sudden wave of clarity. “No. Not anymore. You’ve chosen your path. And I’m choosing mine. This ends now.”

With one last look at the house and the family who had taken so much from me, I walked away.