Came home for the holidays, but my mom opened the door and said, “You weren’t invited — this is for family only.” I turned around without a word; minutes later, my sister texted, “Don’t take it personally — you know how you are.”

My name is Aaron. I’m thirty-two, and for the last six years, I’ve been the person my family calls whenever something goes wrong.

Late electric bill?

Call Aaron.

Car payment coming up short?

Aaron will cover it.

Need someone to co-sign because your credit is terrible?

Aaron won’t say no.

Every Christmas, I was expected to drive home with gifts for everyone, smile through the old insults, and pretend none of the things that happened between us ever really mattered.

For years, I went along with it.

I convinced myself