There was a pause on the line. Just a second. Maybe two.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Okay. I just wanted to say I’m proud of you.”
She hung up.
I didn’t apologize. I didn’t even think about it afterward. I told myself she deserved it. That I was just being honest. That her life choices weren’t my responsibility.
Three months ago, she died.
The call came early in the morning. I remember staring at the wall while my aunt spoke, the words not fully registering. My sister. Gone. Just like that. No dramatic goodbye. No final conversation to fix things.
At the funeral, the air was heavy with grief and unsaid words. People I barely recognized cried openly. Coworkers talked about how kind she was, how she stayed late to help others, how she never complained.
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