By morning, I knew what I had to do.
I called my best friend, Lauren. After listening to everything, she said, “Emily’s not cruel — just spineless under pressure. But only you can decide whether this relationship is worth repairing.”
She wasn’t wrong.
So I booked a flight home.
Not to rescue anyone. Not to smooth over the drama. But because I didn’t want this wound to calcify into permanent silence.
When I landed, Emily asked to meet. Just the two of us.
She was already at the café when I arrived — hair pulled back, no makeup, eyes red but hopeful.
I hugged her first.
She broke into quiet tears. “Sophia, I failed you. I let someone else dictate how I saw my own sister. I’m so sorry.”
“I was hurt,” I said. “But I don’t want to lose you.”
“I don’t want to lose you either,” she whispered. “Jessica is out of my life. And when we reschedule the wedding… I want you there. Not because you’re expected to be. But because you’re my family.”
I studied her face — raw and sincere. “Then we start over. With honesty. No assumptions. No gatekeepers.”
Her smile trembled. “Deal.”
We spent hours rebuilding what had fractured — carefully, honestly, without pretending nothing had happened.
And when we walked out together, her hand slipped into mine.
“I’m really glad you came home,” she said.
“So am I.”
And maybe that’s the real ending — not perfect harmony, but a repaired bond, cautious and hopeful.
So tell me:
Would you have forgiven your sibling? Or would the Barbados suite have become your permanent forwarding address?
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