They say family is everything—but sometimes, they’re the ones who hurt you the most. Three weeks ago, my sister-in-law Jessica planned a “family bonding” vacation at a lake house in Asheville. She charged everyone \$500, except herself, calling it an “organizer’s perk.” My mother, Meryl, was thrilled. She hadn’t had a real vacation in years. I was happy for her—until my son fell sick with a high fever and I had to cancel.

The next day, I called Mom, expecting vacation bliss. Instead, I found her sitting on the floor of a hallway, red-eyed and exhausted. Behind her was a camping mat—no bed, no pillow. “It’s not so bad,” she whispered. My heart broke. Jessica had given the bedrooms to her own family while my 62-year-old mother slept near a broom closet.

I called my brother Peter, furious. He brushed it off, saying it was “first come, first serve.” I packed a queen-size air mattress, left Tommy with a neighbor, and drove to the lake house. When I arrived, I walked into Jessica’s lavish suite and told her to pack up—Mom was moving in. Jessica protested, but I didn’t care. Peter tried to stop me. I reminded him of everything Mom gave up for us. He went silent.

I carried Jessica’s things to the patio and set up the air mattress for her. Then I led Mom into her new room. She wept. “You shouldn’t have,” she said. “I should have years ago,” I replied.

Some fights are worth it—especially for the people who’ve spent their lives fighting for you.