Over the next days, we met for coffee, shared stories, and slowly rebuilt a connection neither of us ever imagined. We began visiting the grave together, each bringing flowers—not in competition, but in shared remembrance. Through our conversations, pain turned into understanding, and understanding grew into something like sisterhood.
Standing beside Casey one quiet afternoon, I realized how much had changed. My mother’s secret had hurt us both, but it had also brought us together. And as we placed fresh flowers on her grave, I felt a peaceful truth settle in my heart: the living need tending—and now, we were tending to each other.
