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I had to stop reading. My throat tightened, burning, and tears blurred the words, but I forced myself to keep going.

“I didn’t kiss Thomas. He kissed me. And when I pulled away, you walked in. I know how it looked. But you never let me explain.”

That single sentence split something open inside me. For years, I’d convinced myself I didn’t care. That I’d moved on. But the ache in my chest told the truth—I hadn’t. I’d been living with the weight of a betrayal I believed in for ten long years.

I turned to the next letter. The handwriting was rushed, uneven—words spilling over each other, written in one of her anxious spirals.

“You blocked my number. I emailed you. I wrote on your birthday card. You never opened anything. Lia, please. I love you. I messed up somewhere, but not like that.”

The letters that followed were quieter. Less pleading. More updates. She wrote about finally getting promoted at work. About how mom’s health scared her. About how she missed me every single day.

One letter hurt more than the rest. It was dated on my thirty-fifth birthday.

“I saw you today. You didn’t see me. You were at the market, buying flowers. Yellow ones. You still love sunflowers, huh? I almost walked up to you and said hi. But you looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb that.”

I closed the letter and stared at the wall, my mind spinning. Why hadn’t she told me all this in person? Why hadn’t she fought harder to see me, to clear the air?

But deep down, I already knew the answer.

I’d made it impossible.

I changed my number. Moved to a new city. Cut off anyone who dared to mention her name. I built a wall so tall she couldn’t climb it.

At the back of the folder was one last letter. No date. Just a note on the envelope:

To be opened if I die.

My fingers trembled before I unfolded it.

“Lia, if you’re reading this, I’m probably gone. I hope you came to my funeral. I hope mom got through to you. I hope you can forgive me someday. If not for me, then for yourself. Hate is heavy, sis. You’ve carried it for too long.”

The paper slipped from my hands.

I wasn’t just crying anymore—I was sobbing. Loud, broken sobs that shook my entire body.

She hadn’t betrayed me.

Not the way I believed she had.

Please learn how to forgive

Do not keep malice 🙏🙏.

Forgive and forget.

Please help me click the Engage icon next to my profile 🙏🥲.