**Diary Entry**
How am I supposed to carry on? I don’t know. My own sister—a traitor.
My husband and I were inseparable—the kind of couple people admired. Everyone called us steady, quiet, warm. He was always polite, always kind, whether at home or in company. Even my friends would say, “It’s too good to last,” but I’d just laugh. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I jinxed it.
Everything fell apart so suddenly. It started when my younger sister lost her job. She had no savings, just guilt weighing her down. After Mum passed, I’d been more like a mother to her than a sister. So, without hesitation, I took her in—gave her a room, told her she could stay until she got back on her feet.
At first, it was fine. But soon, something shifted. My husband grew tense—irritable. The little things that used to make him smile just annoyed him. That warm welcome when I returned from work? Gone. He snapped over nothing, complained about my sister—how she left mugs in the wrong place or hung the laundry oddly.
I brushed it off—stress, I thought. But then one evening, I came home early. The flat was silent. Assuming everyone was out, I pushed open our bedroom door—and my knees gave way. There they were. My husband. My sister. Beneath our sheets.
They didn’t even try to explain. I shut the door, walked to the kitchen. My heart pounded, ears ringing. Just like that—everything shattered. Every belief, every bit of trust—gone.
No shouting, no dramatics. Just his belongings packed by the door. My sister? Out that same hour. I had no energy for her tears, her excuses. How could she? How could either of them? Betrayal—twice over.
Months have passed, but the question lingers—how do you survive this? Can you ever forgive? My heart feels hollow. Everything I loved, everything I trusted—broken.
But I’m trying. Each day—a little easier. They say time heals. I’m not convinced. Still, I hope one day I’ll trust again. Just not so blindly.
