My father, Robert, slid a glossy dealership brochure across the table and tapped the photo of a pearl-white SUV with one thick finger.
“Forty-five thousand,” he said. “Sabrina deserves it.”
I stared at the page.
Forty-five thousand dollars.
I was working two jobs and saving every spare dollar for nursing school. I barely had enough left over at the end of each month to refill my gas tank. Sabrina, meanwhile, was “taking time to find herself,” which usually meant sleeping late, shopping online, and reminding everyone that she was the favorite.My father leaned forward, his voice lowering like he was explaining something obvious to a slow student.
“Take out a loan. Sell your car. Do whatever it takes. Or pack your bags.”
The
