For years, I’d played the role of the supportive sister. The one who sent postcards and care packages from whichever base I was stationed at.

The one who did her best to bridge the gap between Vanessa and reality. But standing on that sidewalk, I realized the price of keeping up the facade had become too high.

As I turned to leave, a part of me hoped that this collapse would be a wake-up call for my sister.

Perhaps she’d learn that relationships are not transactions, that money doesn’t equate to love or respect. But I knew better than to hold my breath.

Walking away, I felt the weight of the world lift slightly off my shoulders, the burden of an unfair expectation finally breaking. With each step, I felt more grounded, reclaiming the parts of myself I had sacrificed at the altar of family loyalty.