I FOUND MY SISTER’S DIARY UNDER THE BED — IT WAS ABOUT ME
I was vacuuming her room when the handle got stuck on something under the bed, and my heart stopped as I pulled out the small, worn leather journal.
The moment I opened it, her handwriting jumped out at me — “I can’t stand how perfect she thinks she is.” My throat tightened as I read on. “Every time she walks into a room, it’s like I disappear.” The smell of lavender lotion from the pages made me nauseous.
“Why are you reading that?” her voice cracked from the doorway. I spun around, clutching the diary. “You wrote this? About me?” Her face flushed, and she looked away. “You wouldn’t get it. You’ve always had everything — Mom, Dad, even Mark.”
I wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, but the words stuck in my throat. She stepped closer, her hands trembling. “Just forget it. It’s not like it even matters now.”
Then I noticed the tear stains on the last page — and the date: yesterday.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*I lowered the diary, the weight of it suddenly crushing. “What happened yesterday?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Her gaze flickered up, then down, and finally met mine, her eyes red-rimmed.
“Mark… he broke up with me,” she choked out, each word a painful expulsion. “He said I was… too much. That I was always jealous of you.”
My own pain, the sting of her words, evaporated. Mark? The guy she’d been dating for a year, the guy I thought she genuinely loved? Breaking up with her, and using *me* as the reason? The injustice of it all twisted in my stomach.
I walked towards her, setting the diary gently on the bed. “He’s wrong,” I said, my voice filled with a sincerity I hadn’t known I possessed. “About you. About everything.”
She scoffed, wiping her eyes. “Easy for you to say. You’ve always… you always win.”
I shook my head. “No. I haven’t. And honestly, I didn’t even *want* Mark.” The words were out before I could stop them. The surprised look on her face was worth the slight sting of the truth.
“But… he’s perfect for you. He’s… he’s everything,” she stammered.
I took a step closer, placing a hand on her arm. “No. He’s not. And if he used me to hurt you, then he’s not worth a single tear.” I paused, my eyes searching hers. “This diary… it’s not everything. It’s just a snapshot, a moment. You’re not always jealous of me. And I’m not always… perfect.” A faint smile touched my lips. “Maybe I’m just really good at pretending.”
She managed a watery laugh, the tension in her body finally starting to ease. “Yeah, you are pretty good at that.”
“Look,” I said, my voice softer, “I’m sorry. For everything. For making you feel invisible, for… for whatever. But you know what? I feel invisible sometimes too. And maybe,” I swallowed, “maybe we could try to… not do this to each other anymore.”
She looked at me, really looked at me, for a long moment. The silence hung heavy, charged with unspoken grievances and buried affection. Then, she took a deep breath.
“Okay,” she said, her voice still shaky but with a newfound resolve. “Okay. Maybe we can.”
I reached for her, and she didn’t pull away. We stood there for a long moment, just holding onto each other. The lavender scent from the diary still lingered in the air, but now, it didn’t feel nauseating. It felt… hopeful.