And with it, the sister I thought I knew. The silence that followed was louder than any fight we’d ever had. I kept replaying everything: her trembling voice when she asked for help, the story I told myself about “family,” and that last sentence that exposed it all.
It wasn’t just betrayal; it was the collapse of an illusion. Friends told me to “let it go,” but grief for the living has its own language. I grieved the sister from my childhood — the one I imagined would stand beside me forever.
