My sister Anna’s wedding was a dreamy night of twirling on a backyard dance floor, her dress dusted with dirt and joy. Fairy lights twinkled, and the air smelled of jasmine and grilled corn. “Married life suits you,” I said, laughing over iced tea. Anna’s smile flickered briefly, but I was too swept up in the music and chatter to notice. Her husband, Matt, grinned from across the lawn, and she waved, radiant. But that fleeting shadow in her eyes haunted me later, when I realized it was the last time I’d see her.
The next day, Anna was gone. Her motel room held only her folded dress and phone, no hint of where she went. Police searched, neighbors rallied, and Matt faced endless questions, but no answers surfaced. Anna had slipped away, leaving our family in silence. Mom stopped singing in the kitchen, and Dad’s farm work grew slower. Matt helped for a while, but after a few years, he left town, his heart heavy. I stayed in Anna’s room, her rose-scented perfume lingering, and stored her belongings in the attic, too raw to sort them.
Ten years later, on a rainy day, I searched the attic for Dad’s old fishing photos. In a box marked “Keepsakes,” I found a letter addressed to me, Rachel, in Anna’s handwriting, dated the morning after her wedding. My heart raced as I read: she was pregnant, scared, and felt trapped. She left an address, hoping I’d understand. I read it to Mom, Dad, and Matt, my voice shaking. “She was pregnant?” Matt choked. “I’d have raised that baby.” Mom cried, “Why didn’t she come to me?” I whispered, “She felt lost.”
I drove to a quiet Wisconsin town, finding a small house with a red door and blooming daisies. A girl, Sarah, played hopscotch out front. “Is your mom home?” I asked. Anna stepped out, older but still her, and we embraced, tears flowing. Over coffee, she explained Sarah wasn’t Matt’s. “I loved someone else,” she said. “I couldn’t marry Matt.” She married that man, raising Sarah in love. “I ran to be true to myself,” she said. I understood. At home, I told Mom I hadn’t found Anna, sparing her pain. By the hearth, I burned the letter, its ashes freeing me. Anna was happy, and that was enough.
