The admission hurt.
But it also felt like someone finally opening a window in a room where I had been suffocating for decades.
Chloe sat beside me.
“She told me you were difficult when we were little.”
I looked at her.
“Did you believe her?”
“Yes.”
Her honesty made my throat tighten.
“She said you resented me because I was the daughter who did everything right.”
I stared at Leo’s blanket.
“I never resented you.”
Chloe began crying.
“I know that now.”
I reached for her hand.
“You’re my sister.”
She squeezed my fingers.
“And you’re the only person who ever let me make mistakes without threatening to stop loving me.”
For the first time that night, Chloe sounded eighteen rather than eight.
She looked frightened, but she was beginning to understand that adulthood meant choosing her own values.
By morning, the news had spread through our extended family.
