“My Sister Sold Our Mom a Car and I Can’t Forgive Her for Not Giving It for Free”

It was a chilly morning in November when our mother, Victoria, called me in a panic. Her reliable old sedan, which had seen better days, had finally given up. The engine had sputtered its last breath on her way home from the grocery store. Stranded on the side of the road, she managed to get a tow and a ride back home, but the mechanic’s verdict was clear: the car was beyond repair.

Victoria was devastated. At 68, she lived on a modest pension and couldn’t afford a new car. Public transportation in our small town was almost non-existent, and without a car, her independence was severely curtailed. She relied on her vehicle for everything from doctor’s appointments to visiting friends.

A week after the incident, during a family dinner, the topic of Mom’s transportation woes came up. That’s when Naomi, my older sister, mentioned she had been planning to sell her second car. It was an older model but still in decent shape. I saw a glimmer of hope in Mom’s eyes, and for a moment, I thought Naomi would offer the car to Mom. After all, she hardly ever used it, having bought a new SUV last year.

However, what Naomi said next left me stunned. “I can give it to Mom, but I was hoping to get at least $3,000 for it. I’ve already put it up on Craigslist.”

The room went silent. I could see the disappointment in Mom’s eyes. She tried to mask it with a smile, but her voice betrayed her feelings. “Oh, I see. Well, that’s a good price, Naomi. I’ll think about it.”

I was furious. Naomi knew very well that Mom couldn’t afford it. After dinner, I pulled Naomi aside. “Can’t you just give it to her? She’s our mom, and she needs it more than you need that money.”

Naomi shrugged, her expression unmoved. “I’m saving for a new kitchen, Nathan. I can’t just give away a car I can sell. Mom will figure something out. Maybe you can help her out with the money.”

The conversation ended there, but the damage was done. Over the next few weeks, I watched as Mom struggled to get by without a car. She missed doctor’s appointments and started relying on neighbors for rides to the supermarket. The independence she so cherished was slipping away.

I tried to reason with Naomi a few more times, but she wouldn’t budge. The tension between us grew, and family gatherings became strained. Mom never did speak up about how she felt, but I knew she was hurt.

Eventually, Mom scraped together enough money to buy the car from Naomi. She never said a word about it, but I could tell it took a toll on her, both financially and emotionally. Naomi got her new kitchen, and life went on, but something fundamental had shifted in our family dynamics.

The last time I visited Mom, I noticed the car sitting in the driveway, barely used. It was a constant reminder of the rift Naomi’s decision had caused. We still gather for dinners, and we still talk, but the warmth that once defined our family gatherings has dimmed. As for Naomi and me, our relationship has never quite recovered. The bond of trust and mutual support that siblings should share seems irreparably broken, all over a decision that put money before family.

In the end, Mom got her car, but at what cost? The price was much more than $3,000; it was the price of our family’s unity.