For 4 years, I picked up my sister’s kids from school for free. One day I was 37 minutes late, and she screamed at me in front of them: “Not with my children!” Then she shoved me out of her house. I stopped picking them up. 11 days later, the school called me. Then my sister called 6 times. I turned my phone face down.

The requests to send them back.

The certified bank records in my bag.

Then Mom reached across the table and touched my hand.

“Sweetheart, we need to support each other.”

I turned toward her.

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated.

“I already wrote a statement for Nicole’s attorney. I said I’d seen the envelopes on the counter.”

My stomach sank.

“Mom, did you actually see Nicole give me money?”

She looked uncomfortable.

“I’ve seen envelopes in her kitchen.”

“What color?”

She blinked.

“What?”

“The envelopes you said contained my payments. What color were they?”

After a pause, she answered.

“White. The long ones.”

Nicole immediately interrupted.

“The color doesn’t matter!”

I looked down at the prepared statement.

My mother had just admitted that she’d never actually seen money change hands.

Yet she’d signed a letter claiming otherwise.

Nicole leaned forward.

“Listen carefully. If Dan gets Wednesdays because you couldn’t follow a school schedule, that’s your fault.”