After my brother’s breakup, I let him stay and even lent him money. One morning, my jewelry and phone were gone—and written on the mirror in red lipstick: “Don’t trust family.”
Weeks passed with no explanation, until he left a shaky voicemail: apologizing, saying he didn’t know how to ask for help. Months later, I got a letter from rehab. He explained the lipstick was for himself, not me, and included a small gift: a hoodie and locket from our childhood.
We started writing again. Nine months later, he completed rehab, moved into a halfway house, and returned my stolen items after helping police recover stolen goods from a pawn shop.
When we finally met, he said, “You saved me, even when I didn’t deserve it.” I replied, “You saved yourself. I just kept the door unlocked.”
Family can break your heart—but they can also give back hope.
