I forgot to tell my family I installed security cameras. When I checked what my sister and her husband were doing in my house, I froze. You have one week to fix everything, I said. They laughed at me, so I called the police. Well, let’s go. My name’s Mina.

I’m 36 years old and I work as a financial director at one of those big industrial companies downtown. Four years ago, I finally had enough saved up for a down payment on a house. Nothing fancy, just a three-bedroom place in a quiet neighborhood. Still paying off that mortgage, but it’s mine. My parents, Linda and Robert, retired about 2 years ago.

Dad worked construction his whole life. Mom was a nurse. Their pensions aren’t great, so I help out. Well, helped out, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Then there’s my sister, Emma, 7 years younger than me, which makes her 29. Got married last year to this guy named Tyler. Real charmer, that one. You’ll see what I mean.

I’ve been Emma’s personal bank since I got my first real job after college. She was still in high school then, always needing money for something. New clothes, concert tickets, whatever teenagers want. I didn’t mind. Big sister duty, right? But the thing is, she never stopped asking. Even after she graduated, got her own job at some marketing firm.

The requests just got bigger. Mina, I need a new haircut from that expensive salon. Mina, my friends, and I want to try that new restaurant. Mina, Tyler, and I can’t quite make rent this month. My typical month looked like this. Pay my mortgage, pay my parents’ utilities, send them grocery money, pay Emma and Tyler’s rent, and then whatever random request Emma came up with.

I was basically supporting four adults plus myself. But here’s the thing, I could afford it. The job paid well. I didn’t have kids. didn’t date much. What else was I going to spend it on? Then about three months ago, our neighborhood started having problems. Breakins, thefts, the whole deal. I called Safeguard Security.

This company my coworker recommended. The guy who came out was super thorough. You want just the basics or the full package? He asked. What’s the full package? Cameras around the whole perimeter. Motion sensors. Cameras inside the main areas. Everything uploads to cloud storage. You can watch live from your phone.

Let’s do it. I said better safe than sorry. They installed everything the next week. Eight cameras inside for outside. The app on my phone showed me every angle of my house. Pretty cool, actually. I could check if I’d left the garage door open or see when packages got delivered. I didn’t mention it to my family. Not for any particular reason, just didn’t come up.

They didn’t visit that often anyway. And when they did, who sits around talking about security cameras? About 2 weeks after the installation, I came home from work on a Tuesday. Something felt off the second I walked in. Nothing obvious, just that feeling like someone had been there. You know what I mean? Like the air was different or something.

…The faint smell of someone else’s perfume hung in the hallway — floral and cheap, not mine.

I frowned, dropped my bag, and checked the living room. A coffee mug on the table. The wrong mug. The one with the crack I never used. My heartbeat quickened. I opened the Safeguard app on my phone and scrolled through the camera feed history.

Footage from 11:37 a.m. — while I’d been at work.

The front door opened. My sister Emma walked in like she owned the place. Tyler followed, holding a grocery bag.

They weren’t breaking in. They had keys. I’d given Emma a spare for emergencies.

But what they did next made my stomach twist.

Tyler went straight to my liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of aged scotch I’d been saving. Emma sat on the couch, pulled off her shoes, and turned on Netflix. They looked comfortable. Too comfortable.

Then I watched Tyler disappear into my bedroom. Emma yelled, “Check the drawers!”

My chest tightened.

He came back holding a small envelope — my emergency cash stash — and grinned. “Told you she’d never notice.”

Emma laughed. “We’ll just put it back before she comes next week. Relax.”

Then they toasted with my own glasses.

I kept watching, frozen, as the footage went on for nearly two hours — them drinking, laughing, eating my food, using my things. Then Tyler walked toward the spare room. When he came back, he was holding a small cardboard box. He tore it open. My grandmother’s jewelry box.

He opened it. Held up a necklace. The one my mom had given me before she got sick.

“Pawn shop’ll give us good money for this,” he said.

That’s when Emma hesitated. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Come on,” Tyler interrupted. “She’s loaded. She won’t even notice.”

I dropped the phone.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely pick it up again. I replayed the footage three more times just to be sure it was real.

By the time I called Emma, my voice was cold and steady — the kind of calm that only comes from fury.

“Hey, Mina!” she chirped. “What’s up?”

“You have one week,” I said flatly.

A pause. “One week for what?”

“To fix everything. Bring back what you took. Replace what you broke. And apologize — properly.”

She laughed. “Oh, come on, Mina. You’re overreacting.”

“You really think I’m joking?” I said quietly.

“Tyler said you’re paranoid,” she said, still laughing. “What proof do you even—”

I hung up.

The next morning, I forwarded the video clips to my email — then to myself again, to be safe — and called the police.

When the officers came that afternoon, I showed them the footage. One of them whistled. “They didn’t even try to hide it. This is theft. Maybe even burglary, depending on whether you gave them permission to enter.”

“They had a key,” I said. “For emergencies.”

He nodded. “Then it’s unauthorized entry. You want to press charges?”

I hesitated for exactly one second.

“Yes.”

The officers thanked me for the evidence and left. That night, Emma called again — screaming.

“How could you call the cops on your own family?”

“You stopped being family when you stole from me,” I said.

Then, quieter: “When Mom and Dad find out, tell them the truth.”

Two days later, I got a text from my mom: What happened? Emma said you misunderstood something.

I sent her the video link. No words.

Ten minutes later, she replied: We’re coming over.

That night, my parents sat in silence at my kitchen table, watching their youngest daughter’s betrayal play on repeat. My father’s face was pale, my mother’s eyes wet.

When it ended, Dad said only one thing: “You did the right thing, Mina.”

A week later, Emma and Tyler were charged with theft and trespassing.

They thought I’d cave. That I’d drop the charges out of guilt. But I didn’t.

Because for once in my life, I wasn’t the sister who gave until there was nothing left.

I was the one who finally said enough.