**A Mistake That Couldn’t Be Forgiven**
“Charlotte, what’s wrong?” Emily gasped as she saw her friend pale, staring at her phone.
“Louise is gone…” Charlotte whispered.
“Louise? You had a sister? You never mentioned her. Was she your cousin?”
“No… she was my sister. We hadn’t spoken in nearly twenty years. I… couldn’t.”
“God… How old was she?”
“Nine years older than me. Fifty-eight…”
“Was she ill?”
“I don’t know, Em. I know nothing…” Charlotte sobbed, dropping her phone to the floor.
When Charlotte was only three, Louise had cared for her like her own. Their parents worked dawn till dusk, leaving Louise to raise her. They were inseparable—Louise grew, and Charlotte grew beside her.
At eighteen, Louise married Richard. Everyone adored him—especially Charlotte. She was smitten, insisting she’d only marry someone just like him.
The family was close, the sisters’ bond almost one soul in two bodies. When Louise and Richard moved to Bristol for work, Charlotte visited every weekend.
They’d sit for hours in the kitchen, reliving memories, sharing thoughts. Richard never interrupted—he knew how much it meant to them.
Charlotte married too, but it went wrong. Her husband hid his drinking. He pretended, then relapsed. She filed for divorce. And then… it happened. The thing that shattered everything.
Richard came back to their hometown for work. Louise asked him to check on Charlotte:
“You’re like a brother to her. Talk to her. She’s struggling. Tell her she’s not alone.”
“Of course,” he nodded. “I remember how fragile she is inside.”
He bought fruit, wine, Charlotte’s favourite chocolates. Rang the doorbell. No answer. Just as he turned to leave, the door opened.
There she stood—hollow-eyed, cheeks streaked with tears.
“I’m glad you came…” she barely whispered.
They sat at the table. Charlotte was silent; Richard tried to cheer her, talking about work, their sons.
Then, suddenly, she spoke:
“I couldn’t take it, Richard. He drank, he lost himself… Like an animal. I thought he was like you. That’s why I married him. But he… wasn’t you at all.”
“Don’t say that, Charlie,” he said gently. “You deserve so much better.”
She walked to the window. He followed, wrapped his arms around her:
“Let it out. It’ll help.”
She turned—her eyes raw with pain, with loneliness. He pulled her close. He didn’t remember how their lips met. Didn’t understand how they ended up in bed.
Morning came. Richard dressed in silence and left. Charlotte lay still, staring at the ceiling, unable to believe what they’d done.
From then on, a chasm gaped between them. No one knew. No one guessed.
Charlotte visited Louise less and less. Louise was baffled:
“Why are you avoiding me? What did I do?”
Charlotte couldn’t say she’d betrayed her with Richard. Couldn’t. Wanted to forget, to erase it. But the guilt burned.
Richard suffered too. He loved Louise. Had never strayed. Until that night. Now he lived with a secret rotting in his soul.
Years passed. Charlotte remarried, had a daughter. She and Louise never spoke, never met. Richard fell ill. Treatment failed. Against all warnings, Charlotte went to see him.
Her heart clenched at the sight—a ghost of the man he’d been, gaunt, eyes vacant. He turned away, couldn’t look at her.
After she left, he called Louise to him:
“Forgive me…” he whispered. “I need to confess. I betrayed you. Once. With Charlotte… years ago.”
Louise froze. Then slowly stood and walked out. She didn’t return that night.
By morning, Richard was gone.
Louise grieved in silence. Two days later, when Charlotte knocked, she opened the door, her face stone.
“Why are you here? To confess too?” she snapped.
“What do you mean, ‘too’?” Charlotte went pale.
“He told me. You betrayed me. Then pretended nothing happened. Get out. You’re no sister of mine.”
“Louise… at least let me come to the funeral—”
“You don’t belong there,” she spat, slamming the door.
Charlotte fled, heart pounding, tears blinding her. She returned, knocked, rang the bell. No answer.
For six months, she tried. Letters, calls. Silence. Then Louise called once:
“One more letter, and I’ll tell everyone what you are. Get out of my life.”
Charlotte vanished.
Twenty years passed. Not a word, not a meeting. And now, just as Charlotte finally dared to relax—visiting Emily—the message came: Louise was gone…
Charlotte went to say goodbye.
Her nephews met her—grown men, cold, distant. Told her Louise had been ill, had never spoken of her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Mum forbade it,” the eldest said. “Called you a stranger. Sorry.”
At the gravesite, horror struck Charlotte: Louise was buried far from Richard.
“Why not together?”
“Mum refused to share a plot with him. Said she never forgave him. Or you.”
Charlotte broke down. Fell to her knees:
“But I never meant it! It was one mistake! Should one night cost a lifetime?!”
No one answered.
Now she knew:
Some mistakes carve life into “before” and “after.” And steal a sister forever.
