I was always my younger sister’s shield.
From the time we were kids, that was just how it was. We were nothing alike—she was soft where I was sharp, dreamy where I was practical—but she was my little princess. If anyone made her cry, they answered to me. No hesitation.
She dreamed of a big family even as a child. She lined her dolls up on the floor, named them, fed them imaginary soup, and talked about “when I have my own babies.” I, on the other hand, dreamed of freedom. Money. Travel. No ties. I wanted to open an animal shelter one day, live light, live unburdened.
She married her first love.
I hated him from the start.
He was the kind of man who came and went, always full of apologies, always promising he’d changed. The night before the wedding, my sister stood in front of me, hands shaking, eyes swollen from crying.
“I love him,” she whispered. “Please… please accept this.”
So I swallowed my instincts and nodded.
