Stood up or "why you shouldn't let people buy you off"

It's a recurring comedy, the different perspectives of siblings.
Given, the age between my self and my sister has always been an issue, she is seven years younger.
It makes a difference.
I happen to believe she's also a much younger soul. She's trusting and rather willing to give people what they want, instead of being cynically unforgiving.
She recently took a trip to the homeland, and having a debrief with me over a martini.
"I just think that it's comforting to be back around people that shared your life with you. They have the same mannerisms, you know, it's your family."
"I don't think we share the same perspective on this. They might be relatives, but they have never shared my life."
People who don't actively participate in my life, nor me in theirs...I don't call that family. I call it being related.
Semantics.
Then she lays another random flaming bag of dog-doo on the conversation.
"So, there was this dress that I liked...and I was going to pay for it, take out a Bloomingdales card...but, then Grandma offered to buy it."
And although I did not say a word, I'm sure my disdain was heard.
You see your estranged grandmother, who you have not had any great relationship with, after more than 10 years, and you let her buy you an expensive dress.
"Maybe I should just chalk it up to her trying to make up for the past."
Maybe...you should have said NO.
Because for all her money, she could never buy what she really needed. She still tries. To this day, she tries to buy her happiness...buy people off so that she can say she did something for you and she will never.let.you.forget.
People don't really understand the issues I have with both sides of the family.
There are people who actually are not soulless, that have been side-less, that have been nurturing.
But there are more that have hidden agendas, dirty hidden lies and secrets.
"What you hear in this house, stays in this house."
Unless, of course, it has to do with my personal issues, then it's a free-for-all on the horn, clucks and shaking of heads.
I'm unforgiving. I don't consider forgiveness something that is given outright.
In this manner, yes, I am exactly like my living grandmother. She has the ability to hold a grudge as long and as hard as it takes to squeeze blood from a stone.
And she does draw blood.
Am I petty and godless for seeing through their bullshit? For always seeing through them?
Do I need them at my bedside to hold my sad, clammy hand as I leave this earthly constraint?
I'm going to have to say No.
Did I move to the northest-westest corner of the US for a reason?
"I think I won't wait so long to go back next time."
"To...Chicago?"
"It was good."
Good to be coddled by those people who only knew her as a little girl. Who never had the time to judge...
They always judge.
They smile on the outside and laugh with you and tell you stories, but they are judging your answers, your reactions, your calculated trust.
They will serve their best lasagna and wine. Take you to the best cafe. Take you to Macy's and Bloomingdales, spend money on you.
And then they will open the gallows.
Dangling, you will wonder what the fuck just happened. Why you trusted them. Why didn't they help you?
Why couldn't they see that you needed them?
And they will divide.
And they will leave.