I was in a horrific accident and left unconscious. The doctors called my parents—they said…

We’ll say it was edited. Deepfakes are everywhere these days. My mother sank back into the chair.

This is a nightmare. They continued plotting for another hour, calling their lawyer, searching the house for valuables they could claim as family heirlooms, making lists of potential character witnesses who could testify to their parental devotion. It was painful to watch, but also illuminating.

They never once expressed concern for my well-being. Never once questioned whether their treatment of me had been wrong. They were solely focused on damage control, on preserving their reputation and access to my grandmother’s money.

When they finally left, taking several small antiques despite Allison’s earlier objection, I closed the laptop. Well, Samantha said quietly. That was exactly what I expected.

I finished for her. They haven’t changed. They never will.

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. It’s Allison. We need to talk.

Please. I stared at the message for a long moment before responding. Tomorrow.

10 a.m. The cafe on Cambridge Street. Whatever came next, I was finally ready to face it on my terms. The cafe on Cambridge Street was busy when I arrived, leaning on my cane.

Allison was already there, sitting at a corner table, two untouched coffees in front of her. She looked up as I approached, her eyes widening at my still-healing facial injuries. Rebecca.

She stood awkwardly, hesitating between a hug and a handshake. We settled for an uncomfortable nod. Allison.

I eased myself into the chair opposite her. You wanted to talk. She pushed one of the coffees toward me, black with one sugar.

You still take it that way. I nodded, surprised she remembered. Thanks.

I didn’t know. She blurted out. About the hospital.

About them leaving you there. I swear I didn’t know. I believe you.

And I did. Allison had many faults, but deliberate cruelty wasn’t one of them. Did you read the entire letter? She nodded miserably.

And watched the video. I can’t believe they would do that. To anyone, let alone their own daughter.

Not their daughter, I corrected automatically. Not in their eyes. But you are.

Legally and, well, we grew up together. You’re my sister. She reached for my hand across the table, but I pulled back slightly.

28 years, Allison. 28 years of watching them love you completely while measuring out affection to me like it was a limited resource. Did you really never notice? She flushed.

I noticed they were harder on you. I thought it was because you were the oldest. Or because you were so smart, they had higher expectations.

They told the hospital staff I wasn’t their real daughter. That they owed me nothing. My voice remained steady, but inside I felt the familiar ache.

Those weren’t heat of the moment words. That was their truth. It’s not my truth, Allison insisted.

You’re my sister. My big sister who taught me to ride a bike and helped me with my college applications and stood up for me when I totaled dad’s car. I had done all those things.

Because that’s what big sisters do even when they’re jealous of the golden child. Even when they’re starving for the love that’s showered on their sibling. What do you want from me, Allison? She looked taken aback by the directness of the question.

I… I want us to be sisters again. Real sisters. I’ve missed you these three years.

And our parents? Where do they fit in this vision? Her expression darkened. I don’t know. I’m not speaking to them right now.

What they did. I can’t forgive it. They’ll pressure you to reconcile, I warned.

They’ll minimize what happened. Rewrite history. I know their playbook too.

She managed a weak smile. I’ve had a front row seat to their revisionist history my whole life. We sat in silence for a moment, the cafe noise washing over us.

Can I ask you something? Allison finally said. The letter you left them, what did it actually say? The whole thing. I took a sip of coffee, considering…