On a typical Tuesday evening, I walked into my in-laws’ house to find my children with completely empty plates, while their nieces and nephews were eating their third helping of lasagna from a “real” dinner set. Eighteen minutes later, I quietly decided I’d had enough of being their personal ATM, and that something in this family was about to go wrong in a way no one expected.

“What would happen to them?”

“They would have to cover these costs themselves. And given what you told me about their financial situation, they probably can’t. They would lose their house to foreclosure. Their truck would be seized. They would have to radically change their lives.”

I sat with this information, pondering it. The power I had held all this time without realizing it. The influence I had willingly given them, while they abused it, harming my children.

“How soon can this happen?” I asked.

“If you call tomorrow, the banks will let you know within 48 hours.” Foreclosure proceedings take about 90 days, but panic sets in immediately.

I thought about eighteen minutes. Eighteen minutes my children spent with empty plates while their nieces and nephews ate. Eighteen minutes away.