Star moved back in with our parents, and since she was struggling to find work, I suggested that Ryan, a higher-up at his company, could help her get a position. He did, and she started working in his department.

For context, my sister and I have never been close. She was always the golden child, especially to our mother. We both got cars at sixteen; I got an eight-year-old Dodge Neon, while she received a two-year-old Mitsubishi Eclipse. Her dance competitions cost thousands; my requests for a $50 volleyball camp were met with sighs and lectures. I wasn’t exactly sad when she moved to Florida after college.

Despite our history, I initially thought it was nice when she started spending more and more time at our house. I thought maybe she was trying to get closer to me. Then I started to notice how familiar she and Ryan were becoming. They had inside jokes, long conversations about “work things,” and a rapport that excluded me. The first real red flag was when I started coming home from my 10-to-7 shift to find she was already there, having spent time with Ryan after his 8-to-4:30 workday ended. The excuse was always, “we had some work stuff to do.”

Two months ago, I noticed something that made me question my own sanity. I make our bed every morning, always with the open side of the pillowcases facing the edge of the bed. That day, when I got into bed, two of the pillowcases were turned inward. I asked Ryan if he had been in bed. He looked a little shaken but said no. “You must have been mistaken,” he told me, “because no one was in the bed.”

I looked through his phone and laptop but found nothing. Of course, why would they need to text when they worked together all day and hung out afterward? I felt like I was losing my mind.

Two weeks ago, at a family dinner, I saw it. Ryan was walking by, and Star lightly grabbed his arm. He turned, she whispered something, and they briefly touched foreheads. It was only for a second, but when he walked away, she looked right at me and smiled before going back to what she was doing. I’m not an idiot. I knew what I was seeing.

I planned a weekend getaway, determined to confront him.

The weekend started perfectly. Drinks, dancing, intimacy. On Saturday, I almost didn’t say anything, thinking he couldn’t possibly be doing that with her and this with me. I was so wrong. As we were getting ready to start our day, I point-blank asked him.

“Are you having an affair with my sister?”

He immediately teared up and said yes. My heart shattered. I asked him why. He said he was sorry, that he didn’t mean for it to happen, that they just “clicked,” and before he knew it, they were kissing, and then more.

“Have you been sleeping with her in our bed?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He just turned his head away in shame.

I left at that point. I had nothing but my purse, and I drove home alone, leaving him there. He got an Uber and arrived a few hours later with my things. He tried to apologize, but I couldn’t even look at him. He packed a bag and left for a hotel.

The next day, I told my parents. They already knew. They said they were sorry “about what happened,” and informed me that Star had left last night and might not be back for a few days. I was sure she went to stay with Ryan.

That was three months ago. Our divorce is almost final. Ryan found an apartment, and Star moved in with him immediately. He initially said I could have the house and the savings, a gesture born of guilt. A few days later, influenced by Star, he demanded we split the house. I had already moved the savings into a new account, so there was no fight there. Just like that, nine years of my life were gone.

Star has been exceedingly cruel. A few days after I found out, she tagged me in a Facebook post: a selfie of her and Ryan, with him kissing her cheek. The caption read, “Feeling loved.” It was disgusting. About an hour later, she texted me: “Sorry sis, didn’t mean to tag you. No hard feelings, I hope we can still be close. You’ll meet your soulmate someday too.” I blocked her on everything.

My parents were no better. After pretending to be sympathetic, my mother looked at me and said, “I’m sorry this happened, it shouldn’t have happened this way. But your sister deserves to be happy too. You’ll meet someone, and then we can put this all behind us.”

When I told them about the post and the text, my mother just said, “Well, you shouldn’t be on that stuff anyway.” My father said nothing, only echoing that he agreed with my mother. I am going full no-contact with all of them.

Four years have passed. I am now recently engaged. It took a lot of therapy to get myself back out there. After moving to Minnesota and swearing off men after one bad date, I committed to processing the trauma of the betrayal and abandonment. It was a hard year, but then I met James. He’s a chef, and he and his twin brother own a successful restaurant and bar. He is wonderful, and I am so excited to start a future with him.

About nine months after I left, I received a wedding invitation in the mail for the marriage of Ryan and Star. It included a gross picture of them in a sunflower field and a letter from my parents. “You need to forgive and put all this behind us,” it read. “We’re a family, and families work through problems.” They also claimed Star wanted me to be a bridesmaid. That letter reopened all sorts of old wounds. The only thing I did was figure out which relative gave them my address and cut them off as well.

That brings us to the most recent drama. Last week, Ryan showed up at my apartment. He looked good, too good, like he was trying to impress me.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I just want to talk,” he said. “I’m so sorry for what I did. Star and I are divorcing. I figured out she was unfaithful our whole marriage. Surprise, surprise. I don’t expect you to take me back, but we should talk and get some closure.”

He had lost his mind. I looked him right in the eye. “No. I give you no closure. You made your own bed. Did you really think that woman, who has had more visitors than a cheap motel, was suddenly going to put up a ‘No Vacancy’ sign just because you put a ring on it? You’re even dumber than I thought. I forgive nothing. I want nothing from you. Go to hell.”

I went back inside and locked the door. I immediately called my landlady, a sweet old woman who knows my story. A few minutes later, her two nephews, who help maintain the building, were there letting Ryan know he was not welcome and would be banned for trespassing if he returned.

But it wasn’t over. The next night, I was at James’s restaurant when Ryan walked in and sat down at my table. James immediately came over. Ryan stuck his hand out to him; James just ignored it and asked me, “Want me to kick him out?”

“Not yet,” I said, a morbid curiosity taking over. “I have a question or two.”

I asked him to tell me what happened. He admitted Star had at least two affairs with married men. “It was a tough time for me,” he said, as if looking for sympathy.

“You’re not that dumb, though,” I interrupted. “Did you protect yourself, or did she get half of everything?”

Ryan replied smugly, “I stuck it out for almost another year so I could start stowing away savings and selling off assets. In the end, she got a fraction of what she would have.”

“And what happened to her then?” I asked.

He replied, “She had to move back in with your parents. Again.”

A satisfied “Yes” escaped my lips. “Thank you. That’s what I wanted to hear. You can go now.”

James stood and pointed at the door. Ryan looked around, saw he was being glared at by the entire staff, and tucked his tail. As he left, James warned him never to come back. I have never had a family look after me like this.

Life with James has been wonderful. We now have two sons, ages six and two. I work part-time as the office manager for the restaurants. Three years ago, we opened a second location and are very successful. I re-engaged with social media, and though I remained no-contact with my family, I knew it was only a matter of time before they found me.

After our first son was born, I got a message from my mother. A half-hearted apology followed by an inquiry about “her grandson.” I found the implication insulting. “You do not have any grandchildren,” I replied. “I am not your daughter, and thus my children have no relation to you. If you want grandchildren, you should encourage Star to get out there and do what she does best.” Then I blocked her.

That brings me to the recent drama. I was getting bombarded with messages from them, all sob stories about missing the grandkids and wanting to make amends. Then, Star started reaching out, saying she desperately needed to speak to me. After three weeks of this, I agreed to a Zoom meeting. Just me.

They started by asking to see the kids. I was steadfast: it wouldn’t happen. Then the facade dropped.

Apparently, Star has been having health issues for the last couple of years. Her kidneys are failing, and she needs a transplant. A family member is the most likely match.

I asked them directly, “This is why you called me? You want me to save her? After what she did? My husband wasn’t enough, now she needs a body part from me, too?”

My mother snapped. “Stop being like this! All of that was a long time ago!” She started to cry. “I get it, you hate us. But she is going to die if she doesn’t get a transplant. Is that what you want?”

My dad finally spoke. “Look, we’re sorry. But we’ve got big problems. Between her medical bills and not being able to work, we could lose the house. We need you to see if you’re a match, but we also could use some help.”

“So you need my kidney and my money,” I stated.

Star chimed in, “Please, just come home. I need my big sister. I don’t want to die. If you’re not a match, we will never contact you again.”

I told them I needed to think about it.

I got tested here in Minnesota. A week later, I got the results. Star and I were a perfect match. I agreed to fly back home.

By the time I arrived, Star had been admitted to the hospital. This spared me any social gatherings. My parents, however, wasted no time asking if I had thought about helping them financially.

I went to meet with the transplant doctors. They began going over everything, and I asked to have the conversation with everyone present. We all went to Star’s room. The doctor began explaining the situation: Star had maybe six months left without a transplant. They stressed how perfect a match I was, that the likelihood of finding a more viable donor was minuscule.

When he was done, I walked over to Star and took her hand. I gazed into her big brown eyes.

“Did you hear that?” I said, my voice calm and clear. “I am a perfect match. Essentially, I am the only person who can save you.”

I paused, letting the hope register on her face before I delivered the final verdict.

“And I am not going to. You are the most vile, narcissistic piece of gutter trash I have ever known. I only came here so you would know that the one person who could keep you alive is the one person you have wronged the most. And now, you’re paying for it with your life. You are going to die. You should make peace with that.”

Star burst into tears. My parents turned to accost me, their faces contorted with rage. The doctor and nurse stood there in total shock.

I looked at my parents. “Don’t even talk to me. And don’t you dare ever ask me for anything ever again. The only money I would ever spend on you would be for your funeral, under the stipulation that you be cremated and the ashes released to me. At which point, I will promptly deposit your remains in the dirtiest public toilet I can find.”

Finished, I walked out of the room and never looked back. I am back home now, my real home, surrounded by my real family. And I couldn’t be happier.