“Talk to us, sweetheart,” she said.
And Stacey finally opened up.
“I’ve been depressed,” she admitted.
“I lost my job months ago. I’ve been lying, pretending I’m fine. But I’m not. I barely leave the apartment. I scroll through everyone’s happy lives online and feel like I’m invisible.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to ruin your day. I just wanted to feel like I mattered, just once.”
Her pain was raw and real.
Suddenly, my anger melted into concern.
“We’re going to get you help,” Mom said. “Starting tomorrow.”
And we did.
Stacey began therapy with Dr. Martinez the very next week. She’s been going regularly, working on herself. She’s found a new job, takes her medication, and talks to me twice a week.
It’s been nearly a year. We’re rebuilding our bond slowly.
That day was heartbreaking. But if it helped pull my sister out of the darkness, maybe it wasn’t entirely a loss.
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