Letting my sister-in-law use our house for Christmas turned into a nightmare when we returned.

Three days before we left, my phone rang while I was folding clothes into neat suitcase stacks.

It was Mandy, Dave’s sister.

She was crying—hard. The kind of crying that steals your breath and makes it impossible to form full sentences.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she sobbed. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

She told me her apartment renovation had spiraled out of control. The kitchen was gutted. Dust everywhere. No sink. No cabinets. She’d been surviving on cereal and instant noodles, sleeping badly, living out of boxes. And now Christmas was days away, and everyone else already had plans.

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