She’d been born of a brief, unexpected love before the wedding, and Laura couldn’t go through with a marriage built on secrets.
“I thought I could stay, but I couldn’t lie to him. Or to myself,” she said.
She had found peace in this quiet life. A man who loved her child as his own. A garden. A rhythm of honesty.
And though her choices shattered hearts, they also built something real.
I went home and said nothing. Mama asked if I found her—I told her no.
We both knew that peace sometimes lives in silence.
That night, I sat by the fireplace and burned the letter. Not out of anger, but release.
Laura had built a life. Luke had moved on.
And so had we, in a way.
As the flames curled around the final words—Love, always, Laura—I whispered, “Goodbye.”
But I knew it wasn’t truly goodbye.
Somewhere, in a yellow house filled with sunflowers and sidewalk chalk, my sister was living a life she chose.
And in that, there was something close to peace.
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