She leaves me a voice mail. Halfway through, she breaks down, crying,
complaining that no one is helping her, no one is telling her what to
do. I feel my blood pressure rise with the pitch of her sobs, but I
don’t feel compassion. I feel angry, manipulated, like I need to
take care of a situation that she’s created herself.

Guess what, sis? You’re almost 54 years old. No one should have to
tell you what to do. You need to fight your own battles.

Later, I’ll feel guilty for my anger. But right now, it just … is.