Confronting my sister was the hardest part. When I finally met her, she looked as devastated as I felt. “Linda, I’m so sorry,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
I listened to her apologies, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive her. Not yet, maybe not ever. “I need time,” I said.
“And you need to stay away from me and my family.”
She nodded, aware of the significance of her actions.
Months passed, and I slowly started to reconstruct my life.
My husband and I separated, and I focused on healing and being present for my son. The ache of betrayal lingered, but with each passing day, it became less intense.
Life would never be the same, but I realized I needed to move on. For me and my son.
