As he continued trashing her, my sister listened silently on the line. Heartbroken but calm, I walked outside and told her, “He’s here. Talking about leaving you today.” Later, I returned inside and confronted him in front of everyone: “You know your wife? The one you’re leaving? She’s my sister.” The café went silent. His excuses didn’t matter—I walked out.
That evening, I met my sister and helped her pack a bag. When Sam came home, she was ready. She calmly told him to move out. He shouted, called her unreasonable, but she stood firm. For once, she wasn’t begging to be loved—she was demanding respect. He left that night, realizing she meant it.
