For months, I believed I was doing the right thing for my sister, even when it cost me more than I could afford. Then, a chance encounter during a routine grocery trip made me question everything I thought I knew.I’m Dana, 38. My sister Mallory is 32, the baby of the family, the one I practically raised after our mom got sick.o when my younger sister called me last March, sobbing that the lump she’d discovered was malignant, that the experimental infusions cost $5,000 a month, and that insurance wouldn’t touch them, I didn’t hesitate.I emptied my emergency fund and postponed my own gallbladder surgery.I didn’t hesitate.

I lied to my husband, Eric, 38, and told him I got a “project bonus” so he wouldn’t become suspicious or notice the withdrawals.Each time, on the first of the month, I overnighted a cashier’s check to my sister’s apartment in Asheville.In turn, Mallory sent me photos.In one, she lay in bed in a soft blue scarf, weak and tired. Her face was so pale and waxy.I cried in the parking lot at work when I saw them.I felt so guilty that I couldn’t spend every minute with her, but I had to earn money to help.Luckily, I was able to visit Mallory once every two weeks.But she was always “too weak” for long visits, always lying on the couch under three blankets, whispering, “Thank you.