I caught my husband with my sister in a hotel room. I divorced him and cut everyone out. 10 years later, my sister died. I refused to go to her funeral, but Dad insisted. While packing her things, I opened a box and froze. Inside was a journal wrapped in a faded ribbon I recognized from our childhood. For a moment, I just stared at it, unsure whether I had the strength to revisit the past I’d sealed away for a decade. My hands trembled as I untied the ribbon, revealing pages filled with my sister’s handwriting. I expected excuses—justifications for the betrayal that shattered our family. Instead, I found entries written during the months leading up to that terrible day, describing her confusion, her fear, and her regret. She wrote about how she had discovered something about my then-husband that terrified her, how she had arranged the meeting at the hotel to confront him privately, and how he manipulated the situation before I walked in. Every sentence felt like a stone dropped into my chest. Continue reading…
