Forgiveness Doesn't Come Easy

Empty Rooms

Isabelle raised her glass of red wine, laughing as the little girl next to her grabbed onto her navy blue dress and tried to climb over her lap.

'Wow' I thought looking at the young girl, 'She looks just like Isabelle, just like mom'

I didn't expect to find Isabelle like this, so well put together. To find out she had no viable reason to cut off contact with us, that it had been a conscious choice.

That she had replaced us.

The letter in my hand crinkled as my fingers tightened around the worn out and stained white paper.

For a moment I found myself turning around, prepared to get on my motorbike and leave behind the sister that wanted nothing to do with me.

But then I remembered this wasn't about me. I didn't spend a better part of a year searching for Isabelle to make amends, it was for my mother. To fulfill her wish of saying goodbye to her eldest daughter.

Breathing in slowly, I calmed myself down. Reminding myself that this was the end of the road for me.

I had found her, and now I could finally go home.

Squaring my shoulders I looked down at the letter. Grabbing it by its sides, I used the seat of my bike to try to even out the wrinkles.

Walking toward the restaurant I faltered as I walked in front of a car, making it stop abruptly as the driver cursed and threw his hands up.

I picked up speed, getting to the restaurant and opening the front door.

Strands of my hair blew back as I stepped into the air-conditioned building, goosebumps instantly making their way up my arms.

I spotted Isabelle close to the back, her eyes locked with another's.

A man with long blonde hair and hard set eyes.

Making my way to her I ignored a waitress as she asked me where I'd like to be seated.

Weaving through the busy restaurant, sidestepping children and avoiding frenzied waiters, I was at my sister's table in seconds.

The large long table was filled with people, young and old, all chatting and eating.

None had noticed me yet, except for my sister.

I had stopped right in front of her, across the table, standing between an elderly woman and a young boy who were attempting to hide pieces of broccoli under the table.

Isabelle's eyes were as wide as saucers, swirling with surprise, guilt, and pain.

I didn't say a word, my thoughts jumbled in my head, unable to form a coherent sentence to express how I felt at the moment.

So I stayed silent, and so did she.

After a few moments, the chatter at the table began to die down, everyone's attention turning toward the scene unfolding in front of them.

The man next to Isabelle placed his hand on her shoulder, his eyes darting between her and me in concern.

There was no doubt in my mind they all knew we were related.

Even though she had light brown hair while mine was midnight black, we both had the same dark green almond eyes from our mother. The same beauty mark under our left eye from our father.

When we were younger people would swear we were twins.

Now, I couldn't even recognize the girl I was looking at.