“Hannah,” Nathan said quietly.
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” She laughed bitterly. “What’s not fair is discovering my fiancée apparently knows my sister better than I do. What’s not fair is having my special night ruined by some twisted revelation.”
With that, she threw her napkin on the table and stormed into the house.
After an awkward moment, Nathan murmured an apology and followed her. The remaining guests sat in uncomfortable silence. My grandmother squeezed my hand again and whispered, “I always knew you were destined for greatness, dear.”
My parents looked shell-shocked.
My mother’s makeup streaked with tears. “Why wouldn’t you tell us something so important?” she asked again. Before I could answer, Uncle Frank cleared his throat.
“I think that’s fairly obvious, Elizabeth. You and Robert never paid much attention to Aby’s accomplishments.”
“That’s not true,” my father protested. But his voice lacked conviction.
The party effectively ended after that. Relatives made awkward excuses to leave, many stopping to congratulate me with a mixture of embarrassment and newfound respect. My parents remained at the table, looking dazed and uncertain.
As the guests trickled away, Nathan returned to the patio alone. “Hannah’s upset,” he said unnecessarily. “She’s asked me to take her home.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“For what it’s worth,” he added quietly, “you’re an excellent judge. Fair and thorough. The Bradford ruling was spot-on.”
“Thank you,” I managed.
He hesitated, then added, “I’ll talk to her when she calms down. This is a lot for her to process.”
After Nathan left, I found myself alone with my parents for the first time since the revelation. The three of us sat in silence as the catering staff discreetly cleaned up around us.
“I don’t understand,” my mother finally said. “We’ve always been proud of you, Abby.”
“Have you?” I asked quietly. “Because it never felt that way.”
“We need time to process this,” my father said, running a hand through his thinning hair.
“It’s a lot to take in.”
I nodded, suddenly exhausted. “I should go.”
Neither of them protested as I gathered my things and left, the weight of three years of deception and a lifetime of being overlooked heavy on my shoulders. As I drove home to my empty apartment, I wondered if I had finally broken free.
Or if I had simply created a deeper rift in my already fractured family. The morning after Hannah’s engagement party, I woke to 17 missed calls and 32 text messages. Most were from extended family members, ranging from apologetic to curious.
Three were from my parents asking me to call them. None were from Hannah. I spent the day in a strange limbo, alternating between relief that my secret was finally out and anxiety about the consequences.
Part of me wanted to call Hannah. But another part—the part that had endured years of her subtle put-downs—felt she needed to make the first move. Around noon, my doorbell rang.
I opened it to find Nathan standing in my hallway, looking uncomfortable. “Nathan,” I said, surprised. “Is Hannah with you?”
“No,” he replied.
“She doesn’t know I’m here. May I come in?”
I hesitated, then stepped aside. My apartment was modestly furnished but comfortable, with law books neatly arranged on bookshelves and a few landscape paintings brightening the walls.
“Nice place,” Nathan commented, glancing around. “Thank you. Would you like some coffee?”
He nodded.
I busied myself in the kitchen, grateful for the momentary distraction. When I returned with two mugs, Nathan was examining my law school diploma hanging on the wall. “Columbia,” he noted.
“Impressive.”
“Hannah went to NYU,” I said automatically, then caught myself. The habit of deflecting praise by redirecting to Hannah was deeply ingrained. Nathan took the coffee with a grateful nod.
“About last night,” he began. “I wanted to apologize.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I feel like I do. I should have recognized you sooner.”
I shrugged.
“On the bench, I looked different. More severe.”
“It’s not just that,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Hannah had described you so differently that I never made the connection.
She talked about her little sister who couldn’t find her place, who needed protecting. Not exactly how I’d describe Judge Matthews.”
I laughed humorlessly. “Hannah has always needed to see me as less successful than her.
It’s how she defines herself in comparison to others.”
Nathan nodded slowly. “I’m starting to realize that.”
He paused. “She was up all night, you know.
Alternating between crying and raging about how you humiliated her.”
“I never intended to humiliate her,” I said quietly. “I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“I know,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I think you showed remarkable restraint.
Most people wouldn’t have kept quiet about such an achievement for so long.”
We sat in silence for a moment before he continued. “There’s something else you should know.”
Hannah hasn’t been entirely truthful about her own career. My eyebrows rose.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not a marketing executive. At least not in the way she’s described. She works in marketing, but she’s a mid-level account manager, not a director.
She hasn’t led any major campaigns. The promotion she told everyone about at Christmas never happened.”
The revelations stunned me. Hannah had always seemed so confident about her accomplishments.
So quick to share her successes. “Why would she lie about that?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer. “I think she feels tremendous pressure to be exceptional,” Nathan said carefully.
“She talks about your parents’ expectations about needing to be the successful daughter.”
“Our parents put that pressure on her, not me,” I said, feeling a twinge of sympathy for my sister despite everything. “Did they?” Nathan asked gently. “Or did Hannah put that pressure on herself?
From what I’ve observed, your parents seem equally proud of both of you… or they would be if they knew the truth.”
His observation gave me pause. Had I misread the family dynamic all these years? Or had Hannah and I both been trapped in roles we’d created for ourselves?
“What happens now?” I asked. Nathan sighed. “I’m not sure.
I care about Hannah deeply, but last night revealed some concerning aspects of our relationship that I need to think about.”
“You’re not reconsidering the engagement?” I asked, alarmed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I love her, but the person I saw last night—the way she spoke to you, her reaction to the truth—that’s not the woman I want to build a life with.”
“She was shocked and embarrassed,” I defended her, surprising myself.
“People say things they don’t mean in those situations.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But it revealed a pattern I can’t ignore. The competitiveness.
The need to put others down to feel superior. Those aren’t qualities that disappear overnight.”
We talked for another hour. About Hannah.
About my career. About family dynamics. As he was leaving, Nathan turned at the door.
“For what it’s worth, Judge Matthews, I think you’re exceptional. Not because of your position or achievements, but because despite years of being overlooked, you’ve remained compassionate. Even now, you’re defending the sister who never defended you.”
After he left, I sat alone in my apartment, his words echoing in my mind.
The truth was, despite everything, I loved Hannah. She was my sister. And underneath her competitive nature and need for validation, I knew there was a vulnerable person who had perhaps suffered in ways I hadn’t recognized.
Later that afternoon, as I was reviewing case files for Monday’s docket, my doorbell rang again. This time, it was Hannah. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her usually perfect hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
Without makeup and designer clothes, she looked younger. More like the sister I’d grown up with. “Can I come in?” she asked, her voice.
I stepped aside, closing the door behind her as she entered. “Nathan came to see you,” she said. Not a question.
“Yes,” I told her. “He did.”
“He also told me he thinks we should postpone the wedding.”
I winced. “Hannah, I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” she asked, but without her usual bite.
She sounded genuinely curious. “Yes,” I said firmly. “I never wanted to hurt you or ruin your engagement.”
She moved to the window, looking out at the city below.
“Why didn’t you tell us about being a judge?”
The question I’d been asked repeatedly since last night. Yet coming from Hannah, it carried different weight. “Would it have mattered?” I asked softly.
She turned to face me, and I was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “Of course it would have mattered. You’re my sister.”
“A sister you’ve spent years belittling and dismissing,” I pointed out, keeping my tone gentle.
“I never—”
She began automatically, then stopped herself. “I didn’t see it that way.”
“How did you see it?”
She sank
