Chapter 9 - The Sister Who Finally Knocked on My DoorTwo years passed.
Then Brenda came to my office.
She didn't look like the woman from the hearing.
No designer confidence.
No pearls.
No perfect smile.
Just my sister.
She stood in the doorway holding a paper bag.
“I brought coffee.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because I didn't know how else to start.”
I gestured toward the chair.
She sat.
“I've been in therapy.”
“That sounds difficult.”
“It is.”
She looked down.
“I used to think you hated me.”
“I didn't.”
“I know that now.”
She swallowed.
“I was jealous.”
“I know.”
“I thought Grandpa loved you more.”
“He loved us differently.”
She smiled sadly.
“You always say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Things that make me feel stupid for being angry.”
I almost smiled.
“You aren't stupid.”
She looked at me.
“Claire, I hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I helped Dad.”
“Yes.”
“I accused you of fraud.”
“Yes.”
She began crying.
“I don't expect forgiveness.”
I sat quietly.
After a while, I said:
“I forgive you.”
She looked up.
“But forgiveness doesn't erase consequences.”
“I know.”
“And we're not going back to the way we were.”
“I know.”
She nodded.
“I'd still like to know my sister.”
That sentence hurt.
Because despite everything, she was still my sister.
“I'd like that too.”
We sat there for another hour.
We didn't talk about money.
Or Grandpa.
Or Dad.
We talked about childhood.
About stupid television shows.
About the terrible food at our old house.
About the fact that neither of us had realized how lonely the other had been.
When she left, she hugged me.
It was the first real hug we'd shared in years.
At the door, she turned.
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“I'm proud of you.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
May you like
She left.
And for the first time, the words didn't feel like something I needed to earn.
