Mom moved in with Jasper and me into our small apartment, but that was when I discovered Marissa’s final betrayal: she had forged Mom’s signature to take out a massive loan using her house as collateral. When payments defaulted, Mom lost the home she had lived in for decades. Heartbroken, she whispered that Marissa had promised it was “temporary.”
Despite everything, Mom even emptied her savings to fund Marissa’s extravagant wedding. I refused to attend. Months later, Mom passed from a stroke. I can’t prove it, but I believe the heartbreak of losing Dad, her home, and faith in her youngest daughter was too much.
I thought the chapter was over until one rainy afternoon. Outside a gas station, I spotted a woman, soaked, mascara running, clutching a paper cup. It took a moment to recognize her—Marissa. Homeless, abandoned by Brent, $80,000 in debt from gambling, she sobbed, “I’m sorry, Liza. I really am. I lost everything.”
Every part of me wanted to scream. Instead, I said quietly, “I’ll forgive you—but only if you prove you can change. No more lies. No more gambling.”
Surprisingly, she did. I helped her get a probationary job at my company. She showed up every day, humbled, babysat Jasper, and slowly rebuilt trust. Months later, she reclaimed our parents’ house. On my birthday, she handed me the deed: “Consider this repayment for what I took.”
Two years later, she married again—this time to a kind man, Kyle. Their wedding was a modest backyard gathering. They now have a daughter. I’ll never fully trust her, but seeing her cradle her baby while Jasper helps set the table softens something inside me.
Maybe Dad would be proud of me for standing firm—and proud of her, too, for finally becoming the sister I always needed.
