Months later, my sister was thriving again—smiling, hiking, even starting a support group for women healing from abusive relationships. She called it The Breathing Room. Among the women who joined was Sam’s new, much younger ex-girlfriend. My sister welcomed her without bitterness, saying, “She’s not my enemy. She just got lost like I did.”
Sam eventually skipped town, leaving behind debts and burned bridges. Karma had handled the rest. My sister moved into her own cozy place, adopted a goofy dog, and started painting again. Watching her laugh, I realized: strength isn’t revenge. It’s rebuilding. Sometimes the smallest act—like answering a phone—can change everything
