My 25th birthday dinner was supposed to be about me. Just one night where I could sit back, laugh with my family, and feel special. But, as always, my sister Caroline found a way to make it about her.
Again. Halfway through the dinner, she accused all of us—on my birthday—of leaving her “thirsty on purpose.” I thought I’d heard it all from her before, but that one? That was a brand-new low.
Only this time, Mom didn’t stay silent. And what she said… left everyone at the table frozen. Let me back up a bit.
I’m Sandra, and my relationship with my sister Caroline has always been… complicated. She’s 23, only two years younger than me, but sometimes it feels like she’s stuck at 13. She always acts like people should read her mind, as if saying what she actually wants is beneath her.
If she wants the window open, she won’t say it. Instead, she’ll sigh dramatically and go, “Ugh… the air in here is just so thick.”
When she wants the air conditioner on? “Is anyone else burning up?” Then, if you offer to turn it on, she says, “I’m okay.
But you do what’s best for you.”
I’ve spent years trying to be patient. Trying to guess. Trying not to rock the boat.
But nothing prepared me for what went down that night at Rosewood Bistro. Mom picked the place—it was warm and charming, perfect for a quiet celebration. The lights were low, the music soft, and I felt beautiful in my new dress.
For once, I thought, maybe this night will go smoothly. Caroline sat across from me, fidgeting with her napkin. Her eyes kept drifting toward the bar like it was calling to her.
I already knew what was coming. “Oh, look at that couple,” she said, nodding at a nearby table. “Those cocktails look so refreshing!”
Liam, our older brother, gave me a quick glance and a subtle eye roll.
He knew where this was heading too. “Those drinks must be amazing,” Caroline added, fanning herself with the dessert menu. “I mean, perfect for a warm night like this.”
Gini, our cheerful waitress, came back to check on us for the third time.
“Can I get anyone anything else to drink? Maybe another round?”
“I’ll have another coffee,” Liam said, stretching out in his chair. “Make that two,” I added with a smile.
“Mom?”
“The house wine was lovely. I’ll have another glass,” Mom said. Then Gini turned to Caroline.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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