The Woman At The Door

My sister stood at the altar in a white satin gown, wearing our grandmother's emerald necklace as if my whole life had become part of her wardrobe. Everyone believed I was dead — that was the story she'd told the world, and the man she was about to marry. But I walked barefoot through the ballroom doors in a hospital coat, scars bandaged, and watched the color drain from her face. She should never have said I was confused.