Part of me wanted to let it ring, to make her wait the way she had made me wait.
But another part—the part that missed my nieces and nephews, that still loved my sister despite everything—reached for the phone.
I pressed accept and held my breath.
“Hey,” she said. Her voice was softer than before, missing the sharp edges it usually had when we argued.
“Hey,” I echoed, waiting.
She hesitated, then sighed. “So… I thought about what you said. And I guess I wasn’t being fair.”
I sat down on the couch, my heart thudding against my ribs. That wasn’t what I had expected. Not so soon, anyway.
“Go on,” I said, keeping my voice even.
Lauren cleared her throat. “I just got used to you always saying yes. I didn’t think about how it was affecting you. I should have.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t sure what I had been hoping for, but hearing her say that made something in my chest loosen.
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Thank you for saying that.”
Another pause. Then, her voice turned lighter, like she was testing the waters.
“So… maybe we can work something out? If I need a sitter, I’ll ask in advance. And if you can do it, I’ll pay you.”
Relief washed over me, warm and unexpected. “That sounds fair.”
She let out a small laugh, a little awkward, a little familiar. “And, you know… maybe sometimes you’ll just do it because you love them?”
I smirked. “Maybe.”
She laughed again, and for the first time in weeks, it wasn’t forced or bitter. It was real.
It wasn’t perfect. It wouldn’t fix everything overnight. But it was something. A new beginning built on mutual respect instead of unspoken expectations.
And for the first time, I wasn’t just the reliable babysitter—I was a person whose time mattered, too.
