I Cut My Sister Out of My Life—Until She Walked Into My Chemo Room

She moved into my guest room for five months. Brought her own pillow. Took over my laundry without asking. Learned the schedule of my medications better than I knew it myself.

We never talked about the fight.

The money. The estate. The six years we lost to stubbornness and pride and grief that had nowhere to go. Sometimes I think we’re afraid that if we touch it, the fragile peace we’ve built will crack. Or maybe it just doesn’t matter anymore.

Cancer has a brutal way of stripping things down to their essence.