When my older sister Rachel announced she was pregnant with her fifth child, I didn’t cheer. I didn’t hug her. I braced myself — because I knew what was coming.
She looked around the crowded dinner table at our mom’s house, smiled, and said, “I need Lena’s college fund.”
That was the moment I realized: I had to choose myself — or lose my future.
I’m Lena, 19, and the third of five siblings in a family that’s been poor for generations. We wore hand-me-downs, lived on church donations, and got by on scraps of help from relatives. I wore my brother’s patched jeans and got my shoes from the school’s charity bin.
But I refused to stay trapped.
I work 20 hours a week at a campus coffee shop, survive on ramen and free food, and reuse old textbooks just to stay in college. I haven’t bought new clothes in two years.
The only reason I can afford school is because of my late grandfather, Leo. Before he passed, he set up college funds for all his grandchildren.
“Education is the only thing no one can take from you,” he told me. “Use it wisely.”
That fund is my lifeline. It’s my way out — my only chance to escape the cycle.
Now, meet Rachel. At 27, she’s already a mom of four — with three different fathers. First baby at 18. Second at 20. Twins at 24.
She burned through her share of Grandpa’s fund years ago — not on school, but on a failed nail salon, designer purses, fancy dinners, and a car she couldn’t afford to insure.
“I was investing in myself,” she’d say.
Now, she’s always broke, always needing a bailout. And guess who she calls?
Me.
In our family, I’m “the responsible one.” I babysit her kids. I cover her bills. I’ve missed school events, given up jobs, and sacrificed my teenage years because someone had to be the adult.
I told myself it would end when I got to college. That I’d finally get to focus on me.
Then came Sunday dinner.
We were all at Mom’s, the house loud with kids and chaos, when Rachel stood up with a wide smile.
“I’m pregnant again!” she announced.
Everyone cheered.
My stomach dropped.
“Congratulations,” I said, forcing a smile. “When’s the due date?”
“June,” she said. “I’m already 12 weeks.”
Twelve weeks. She’d been hiding it while I helped pay for her groceries and watched her other kids.
Then she dropped the bomb.
“I’ve been thinking… there’s still some of Grandpa’s money left. Your college fund.”
I stared at her. “You’re serious?”
“You don’t even have kids,” she said. “You’re just saving it. I need it for this baby.”
Around the table, heads nodded. Mom said, “Family comes first, Lena.”
Rachel added, “You’re hoarding that money while I’m struggling to feed the ones I already have.”
That’s when I snapped.
“I fight for my education every single day,” I said, voice steady. “That money is mine. It’s for my future. Not for another one of your poor choices.”
The room exploded.
“How can you be so selfish?” Rachel screamed. “This is your niece or nephew!”
Mom gave me that disappointed look — the one that used to make me crumble. “I raised you better than this.”
I finally fought back.
“What about when I needed help? When I was working three jobs just to afford applications? Where was ‘family comes first’ then?”
Rachel stood up, chair crashing behind her. “You think you’re better than us now?”
“I think I deserve a future,” I said. “You spent your fund on a nail salon and purses. I’m not letting you take mine.”
I listed every sacrifice I’d made — the winter formal I missed, the library job I quit, the nights I studied at 2 a.m. because I was too busy babysitting.
“I gave up my childhood for you,” I said. “But I’m done. When do I get to live my life?”
The table fell silent.
Then my older brother, Mark, spoke up. “She’s right. Grandpa meant that money for education. Why should Lena pay for Rachel’s mistakes?”
Rachel cried. “You’re all turning against me when I’m pregnant!”
“I’m not turning against you,” I said. “I’m finally turning toward myself.”