I was brushing my teeth when the message came in. 11:47 p.m.

**You’re closer, so you’re watching the kids.**

I stared at the screen with toothpaste still in my mouth.

Then another message appeared.

**We’re already on the way. Mom has your spare key.**

No question.

No warning.

No “please.”

My thirty-five-year-old sister had simply decided that I was about to spend the night babysitting her five children.

With twelve minutes’ notice.

That was Mia.

Everything with her came wrapped in assumptions.

Expectations.

Entitlement.

My name is Jason.

I was thirty-three and living alone in a small high-rise apartment in downtown Chicago.

No roommates.

No pets.

No children.