A Conflict Between Sisters Over Money and Family Priorities
“Lena, are you out of your mind?” Ira’s voice trembled with anger. “You know very well I need money for a trip to Turkey!”
I was standing in front of the mirror inside a fitting room, examining myself in a new light summer dress. It was the first one I had bought for myself in three years. A delicate blue with a floral pattern, perfectly fitting my figure.
“Ira, I owe you nothing,” I answered calmly without turning around.
“How can you say that?” she exclaimed. “Who promised to help with the trip? Who said family is sacred?”
The sales assistant in the shop lowered her eyes awkwardly, and other customers began glancing over at us.
“Let’s go outside and talk,” I suggested.
“No!” my sister stomped her foot. “Take off that rubbish right now and return it! Give me my money!”
I slowly turned around. The mirror reflected two sisters: one wearing a worn T-shirt and old jeans; the other dressed stylishly, with flawless manicure.
“Ira, this money isn’t yours,” I said softly but firmly. “It belongs to me.”
Everything had started half a year ago…
Ira and I have always been polar opposites. I am the elder sister—organized and accustomed to sacrificing myself for family. Ira is the younger one—vivid and convinced the world owes her comfort and joy.
When doctors diagnosed Mom with heart problems and said she needed urgent surgery, I immediately took responsibility. I worked two jobs: during the day in an office, evenings as a tutor. I lived frugally, almost surviving on bread and butter, denying myself everything unnecessary, saving every penny.
Ira ‘supported’—meaning she expressed concern for Mom verbally but offered no financial help.
“Lena, you have to understand, my salary is tiny,” she kept justifying herself. “But you earn more.”
Indeed, I earned more—not because of luck but because I worked harder, avoiding meaningless parties, expensive cosmetics, and buying new dresses every month like she did.
After six months, I almost collected what was needed. Just a bit more to go. Mom was scheduled for surgery in August.
Then in June, Ira announced her plans:
- “Lena, guess what? Kostya invited me to Turkey!” she beamed, showing a photo of the hotel on her phone.
- “Two weeks, all-inclusive! A dream, right?”
“That’s great,” I replied distractedly, calculating how much more I needed.
“Awesome!” she excitedly continued. “But I don’t have the money. The trip costs thirty thousand.”
I looked up from my calculations.
“And what do you want to do?” I asked.
“Well…” Ira moved closer, took my hand. “Maybe you can help? Please! This is a chance! Maybe Kostya and I will even get married after!”
“Ira,” I said slowly, “Mom’s surgery is in August.”
“So what?” she frowned. “The operation is in August, the trip is in July. You can save by then.”
I watched her, stunned. Could she really think I would give the money saved for Mom’s life to pay for her vacation?
“I still need twenty thousand for surgery,” I explained. “If I give you thirty, where will I get the twenty?”
“You’ll find a way!” Ira waved her hand. “Take a loan or borrow from someone. You’re smart!”
I remained silent. She seriously suggested I go into debt for her vacation.
“I can’t,” I finally said.
“How can you say that?” Her expression twisted. “I’m your sister!”
“Exactly why I can’t. Mom is more important.”
“Mom, mom!” Ira snapped irritably. “What about me? Don’t I deserve happiness too?”
“Then go on your own dime,” I offered.
“What money? I have none!”
“Then save up or let Kostya pay.”
She jumped up:
“You’re just greedy!” she screamed. “You have money, but you won’t give a dime to your sister!”
Slamming the door, she ran out.
In the following days, Ira deliberately ignored me. She complained to Mom, calling me “stingy” and “indifferent.”
“Lena, maybe you’ll help Ira?” Mom hesitated once. “She dreams so much.”
“Mom,” I answered patiently, “the choice is simple: surgery or vacation. Not both.”
“What if we postpone the operation until autumn?” Mom muttered.
“The doctor said delay is dangerous,” I reminded.
“Then… I don’t know,” she faltered.
I sensed Mom’s uncertainty. The pressure mounted.
A week later Ira changed her approach. She stopped yelling and started pleading.
“Lena, please,” she begged. “I promise to return it! Honestly!”
“When?” I asked.
“Maybe by autumn.”
“This autumn?”
“Maybe next one,” she admitted. “My salary is small…”
“But what about your new lipstick costing two thousand?” I pointed at her lips. “Then why save?”
“That’s different!” Ira scoffed. “A woman should look good!”
“And Mom needs to be alive,” I countered.
“She feels fine!” Ira waved it off. “But I’ll burn out without this vacation!”
Pressure escalated. Aunts, neighbors, family friends joined Ira, all telling me:
“Lena, what does it cost you? You have the money!”
“It’s not just money,” I explained. “It’s for surgery.”
“But the surgery isn’t tomorrow!” they argued. “You still have time to save.”
“What if I don’t make it?” I asked.
“You will! You work hard!”
The reasoning was airtight: since Lena had something, she should share. No one cared about the money’s purpose.
Then, at June’s end, the final straw appeared. Ira came home carrying a purse costing fifteen thousand.
“Where did you get it?” I asked.
“A bonus,” she answered.
“A bonus? For what?”
“For good work,” she evaded.
The next day I ran into her coworker.
“How is Ira doing at work?”
“Fine,” the woman said. “She works evenings too, saving for a trip.”
“Where?”
“At a boutique as a salesgirl. They pay well.”
That evening I confronted Ira:
“You have a second job?”
“Yes,” she reluctantly admitted. “So?”
“How much do you earn?”
“Not much,” she tried to avoid the question.
“Be specific.”
“Okay… around twenty thousand a month,” she finally said.
Twenty thousand! She could have saved enough for her own trip in two months!
“Then why ask me for money?” I looked at her.
“Why spend your own if I can take yours?” Ira responded coolly.
At that moment, everything became clear. She never intended to save. Living off my money was easier. Everyone around encouraged it, believing the elder should ‘support’ the younger.
“Listen, Ira,” I said calmly, “I won’t give you any more money.”
“What?” she was confused.
“Simply because. If you earn it, you spend it. On your own.”
“But you’re my sister!” she protested.
“Exactly why I refuse to enable your laziness,” I answered. “It’s time to grow up.”
Ira burst into tears and ran to Mom, who begged me not to ruin our relationship. Complaints to relatives followed, branding me “cold,” “greedy,” and “forgetful of family.”
But I stood firm. The more pressure I felt, the clearer it became: I was doing the right thing.
Unexpectedly, at July’s end, the hospital called to move Mom’s surgery a week earlier.
“Lena, is the money ready?” Mom asked anxiously.
“Yes,” I nodded. “The full amount is gathered.”
“All of it?” Mom was surprised. “And you didn’t give any to Ira?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because your health matters more than her vacation.”
Mom fell silent, then whispered softly, “Thank you, dear.”
The surgery was successful. Mom was discharged a week later. I was overjoyed—the hardest part was done.
Ira did go on her trip after all. She saved money herself over two months and went in August. But not with Kostya—he found another girl who paid right away. Ira returned tanned but without romance.
Then the money requests began again—for a jacket, manicure courses, gym membership.
“Lena, please help! My salary’s tiny!” she begged.
“Get a second job,” I said bluntly.
“I’m tired of that!” she whined.
Today, for the first time in three years, I bought something simply because I wanted it—a dress. Light, blue, floral. One that makes me feel beautiful.
Ira threw a tantrum right in the mall.
“Ira,” I told her leaving the fitting room, “I’m thirty. I work, pay rent, feed myself, support Mom. I have the right to buy a dress.”
“But you promised to be there for me!” she sobbed.
“I never promised to be your ATM.”
“You did! Said family is sacred!”
“That’s why I was saving for surgery,” I replied. “Family means taking responsibility, not demanding others pay for your dreams.”
“Dreams?!” she shrieked. “That’s just whims to you?”
“Yes,” I said. “Because you’ve long confused true values with desires.”
I walked to the cashier.
“Please ring up this dress,” I said.
Ira stood nearby, theatrically sobbing. People stared.
“You’re selfish!” she threw at me. “You think only about yourself!”
“You know,” I turned to her, “I’ve sacrificed myself for family for ten years. Worked nights, denied myself everything. Gave you money for study, clothes, trips. And now, after three years, I buy one thing just for me. One dress. Does that make me selfish?”
She was silent.
“Fine,” I continued. “Yes, I’m selfish. And you know what else? Tonight I’m going to a restaurant. I’ll order steak and a glass of wine. Tomorrow, I’ll enroll in French lessons I’ve dreamed about for half my life.”
“What about me?” she asked plaintively.
“You should start living your own life,” I said calmly. “Sooner or later, you have to.”
I paid and left. Ira ran after me.
“Lena, don’t be mad! I didn’t mean to!”
“I’m not mad,” I said. “I’m just not your ATM anymore.”
“But we’re sisters!”
“Exactly,” I stopped. “Which is why I won’t let you rely on me anymore. You’re an adult. Time to be independent.”
That evening, I did go to the restaurant. Sitting by the window, eating steak and drinking wine, I finally felt alive—for myself.
No calls came from Ira or Mom. Maybe Mom told her I was “heartless.”
But I felt peaceful. Looking at my reflection— a woman in a blue dress, confident, free, finally owning herself.
The next day, I signed up for French lessons. Then joined a gym. Bought another dress, then a second.
Ira sulked for a week, then came to me.
“Lena, I’m sorry,” she said. “I realize I was wrong.”
“Good,” I nodded. “I forgive you.”
“Will you help with money for winter boots?”
I smiled:
“No, Ira. I won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you still expect others to solve your problems. That means you haven’t learned anything.”
“True growth begins when one stops relying on others and takes control.”
Six months passed. Ira matured, not instantly but gradually. When she realized begging was useless, she worked harder, got a promotion, rented an apartment.
We met less often, but genuinely—without games or manipulation. She stopped seeing me as a source of income, and I stopped feeling obligated to support her.
And I…began a new chapter. Mastered French, traveled, took dance classes, and met a man who loves me for my strength, intelligence, and true self—not my sacrifices.
Sometimes I recall that day in the store. What if I had been scared, returned the dress, and fallen back into the old role? I’d probably still be at home, saving on coffee while others lived my life.
But I didn’t fear, and I have no regrets.
Now, when someone says, “You’re family, help,” I smile gently and say,
“Sorry, but I’m not an ATM.”
And I go buy another beautiful dress.
Conclusion: This story highlights the importance of setting personal boundaries, standing firm on one’s principles, and recognizing the difference between genuine family support and enabling irresponsible behavior. Taking responsibility for loved ones is noble, but it should never come at the cost of one’s own wellbeing or self-respect. True familial love involves understanding, sacrifice, and mutual responsibility, not entitlement or manipulation.