Days passed, each one bringing a new layer of understanding. The conversations with my friend had provided insight, but the heart of the matter lay with my sibling. The next step was inevitable, a meeting that could change everything.
We agreed to meet at a neutral location, a café we both frequented. The setting was casual, a place that held memories of happier times, now tainted by the weight of our unspoken conflict.
As I arrived, I noticed my sibling already seated, a coffee cup in hand, their expression a mix of anticipation and caution. I took a deep breath, crossing the threshold into the realm of confrontation.
“Thanks for meeting,” I began, my tone steady. They nodded, their eyes searching mine for clues to my intentions. “We need to talk about the power of attorney,” I continued, laying the folder on the table between us.
They glanced at it, then back at me. “I was going to explain everything,” they said, their voice calm but with an edge of defensiveness.
“I just need to understand,” I replied, “why some decisions were made without consulting the rest of us.” It was a question that held the weight of our shared history, the trust that now seemed precarious.
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