At midnight my sister tried to bring her three children into my apartment with my mother’s key, but when she yelled at me “family helps each other”, I had already changed the lock and was waiting for her downstairs to put a stop to it.

Sienna stared at the phone screen as if she couldn’t decide whether to continue her tirade or accept the olive branch I was holding out.

“So you had this whole elaborate plan ready before we even walked through the front doors?” my mother asked with a frown.

“I had a solution ready because I knew you wouldn’t listen to me and I wanted to make sure the kids had a place to sleep that wasn’t on my sofa,” I said.

Sienna let out a sharp and bitter laugh as she shook her head in a way that suggested she still felt like the victim of a grave injustice.

“You didn’t do this to help us, Leona, you did this specifically to humiliate me in front of our mother and the building staff,” she accused.

“I didn’t humiliate you, Sienna, you did that yourself the moment you decided to show up here with suitcases and a stolen key against my express wishes,” I replied.

The look on her face changed from anger to a raw sort of pain that suggested my words had finally found a way through her armor of entitlement.

“Mom told me that you wouldn’t actually go through with it and that you would eventually let us in because you couldn’t stand the drama,” she admitted suddenly.