Pay Dirt is Slate’s money advice column. Have a question? Send it to Kristin and Ilyce here. (It’s anonymous!)

Dear Pay Dirt,

Thirty years ago, I married my late husband after he lost his first wife two years earlier. His oldest daughter, “Sally,” never forgave me for that act. She was 12 at the time and grieving, but her grudge against me has worn thin in the following decades. I never expected her to accept me like her younger brother and sister did, but I hoped we’d develop a close relationship. Then I hoped for a civil one.  And in the end, I just hoped that Sally would not wreck another family meal because she needed to get her digs in at me.

The digs were always pointless and petty. She didn’t hate me for my politics, but for the way I decorated our house, or that I never finished college and was happy being a wife and mother. She was in college when I formally adopted her brother and sister, and she flew into such a fury that my husband asked her to leave the house. Holidays were spent tiptoeing around her moods. When my husband got sick, I lost all my tolerance for Sally and her shenanigans. My husband was dying by inches, and Sally still had to get her digs in—so I showed her the door.

She accused me of actually trying to kill her father. At this point, her brother told her to shut up if all she was going to do was rag on me. After the funeral, money and jewelry went missing from the house. Eventually, it came to light that Sally took them. Her defense was that her father “promised” it to her on his deathbed and that the jewelry was “stolen” by me from their dead mother. The jewelry was either bought by my husband for me or came from my dead grandma. It took the threat of the police to get my jewelry back, and I let the money go for the sake of my children. I didn’t want to compound their loss by pressing charges against their sister.

However, I want nothing to do with Sally for the rest of my life. It has been five years. I have healed and am on my way to getting remarried. My children are happy for me, but they came to me with troubling news. Their sister has a very aggressive disease, and the prospects aren’t good. She has never married or had children. They want me to take Sally in during her treatment and “make amends.” I love my children, and I would never wish this fate on their sister, but after everything, I don’t have it in me to try. How do I tell my children this?

—No Amends to Be Made

Dear Amends,

Your choice is valid. Taking care of another human being is hard. It would be immensely harder considering there’s a history of conflict and tension between the two of you. Resentments might build, your other kids might start taking sides … there’s a lot that could go wrong here.

When you come to your children with your decision, you obviously want to deliver it as gently as possible. Start by expressing how hard this must be for them and for their sister, and that, despite any differences, you do care for her. I’m sure all of that’s true, and they might just need to hear that from you right now. In other words, focus the conversation more on Sally and what she’s going through rather than why it would be hard for you. I’m not saying to avoid sharing your reasons—obviously, you’ll want to address why you’ve made this choice. But you can offer your reasoning without judgment or resentment. Something like, “Sally deserves better quality care than I can offer.” Or, “We have such a tumultuous history, I think it would be better for her to have someone else by her side during such a difficult time.”

As for making amends, that’s another conversation, and one that’s totally up to you. Would you regret not reaching out to her to heal from the past? Or do you think it would be more peaceful for Sally to let things lie? Ask yourself if you’re willing to have that conversation, and under what conditions (for instance, will you reach out, or wait for her to approach you?), and let your children know what you decide.

If you can offer a few alternative solutions for Sally’s care, even better. But it’s also OK to simply gently decline. Your other children might have a hard time with this, but it sounds like they’ve been pretty understanding in the past, so there’s reason to believe they will be now, too.

Dear Pay Dirt,

Many years ago, I received a small inheritance from my grandmother. Knowing nothing about money, I left it alone, invested in a mix of stocks and bonds, whatever my parents’ financial advisor suggested. We never spoke again, and I never thought about it. I’ve just never been interested in finances.

Then, in February, I got in touch with this finance guy I hadn’t spoken to in a decade and told him I wanted everything in cash, pronto. It seemed self-evident that the country was being run by a madman whose reckless layoffs of federal workers were destined to wreak havoc with the economy.

The guy tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted. And, of course, I was completely right. The stock market is tanking, we’re headed for a major recession, maybe worse. But I got out of the market before any of it happened. The thing is, I really, truly don’t know anything about finances. So, while I’m glad I got out early, I don’t know what to do next. My question is, who do I trust? How do I make decisions about my finances going forward if I’ve lost all faith in financial professionals?

—Mr. Foresight

Dear Foresight,

You’re right that we’re living in an unprecedented moment in history, and the future feels uncertain and pretty scary right now. There are plenty of valid reasons to opt out of participating in the stock market, too. Maybe you don’t want to support companies whose values are misaligned with your own, for example. In which case, you might consider socially responsible investing, but that’s a topic for another column.

That said, if we’re strictly talking about smart financial moves, I tend to agree with your advisor. I understand wanting to have some liquid cash on hand to beef up an emergency fund right now, but pulling all of your money out of the market at a low point may not have been the most strategic move. Long-term investing really is about the long view. The stock market has faced major downturns throughout its history, but it’s consistently rebounded over time. When you hear about people “losing everything” during a market downturn, it’s often because they panicked and sold off all their investments at a low point rather than waiting for that rebound. Here’s a more detailed explanation of what happens during a downturn, and what, if anything, investors should do right now.

But I suppose that’s not the question you asked. You asked about finding the right kind of support, a financial advisor you can trust. I’d recommend seeking out a Certified Financial Planner (CFP). These are financial professionals vetted by the CFP board. They take a fiduciary oath to act in their clients’ best interests. But, in this context, a good advisor would caution against making major decisions based on short-term action, just as your advisor did. There’s a saying: “Buy low, sell high.” And it exists for a reason: Selling when the market is down can lock in losses.

I know you’ve said that finances aren’t your strong suit, so it might be worth trusting experts who are trained to think long-term, especially during volatile times like these. Yes, the future feels uncertain and frightening. But we can only make choices based on the best data we have, and history has shown us that the market has rebounded from even more severe downturns than what we’re seeing now. At this point, it might be helpful to talk with your original advisor or another CFP about how best to move forward. That might mean reinvesting when the time feels right or parking your money in a high-yield savings account in the meantime. No one knows what the future holds, but financially speaking, all we can do is make a plan, stick to it, and try to stay focused on the bigger picture.

—Kristin

Classic Prudie

​​Every time I see my mother-in-law, she tells me I look tired. Every. Time. We’ve known each other for a decade, so I would think she’d understand by now that this is just, you know, how I look. I’ve tried everything: laughing it off, ignoring it, attempting elaborate under-eye concealer hacks gleaned from YouTube beauty influencers, talking to my husband about how it makes me feel—that is, terrible.