When my sister Clara called me sobbing late one night, I almost didn’t recognize her voice. After years of mocking my simple life and loving husband, karma had finally caught up with her. Mornings with Jack were my favorite.
The smell of coffee filled our tiny kitchen, and the sunlight always seemed to find its way through the sheer curtains. Jack hummed to himself as he flipped pancakes, still in his work coveralls from an early call. “Do you ever stop moving?” I teased, pouring syrup over the stack he set in front of me.
But it was ours. It was warm and full of love. That was more than enough for me.
Of course, Clara didn’t see it that way. My older sister lived in a world of luxury. Her sprawling mansion, endless designer outfits, and her husband, Tyler, who was more like a business partner than a spouse, screamed perfection.
Growing up, she was the golden child who could do no wrong in our parents’ eyes. She had the best grades, the best clothes, and the best friends. I was the quiet one, the “practical” sister who blended into the background while Clara basked in the spotlight.Continue reading…