This photo sits in a box of old stuff I almost threw out. I found it last week while looking for something else—buried under school papers, birthday cards, a faded drawing with “I love you” scribbled in crayon.

That’s me on the right, grinning like life didn’t have any sharp corners yet. And that’s her—my sister—holding our dog Muffin, back when her eyeliner was always a little too heavy and her heart was always way too soft.

We used to be close. Not just in the way siblings should be, but in the way where you knew each other’s secrets without ever having to say them out loud.

I don’t know when it changed.

Maybe it was the move. Or the arguments that started feeling like routines. Maybe it was that one Thanksgiving we didn’t speak, and suddenly that became the new normal.

Now she’s a stranger to me.

We still share a last name, but that’s about it. It’s been almost a year since we last talked. We haven’t shared a holiday since. And it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when it all went wrong, but somewhere between the late-night arguments, the passive-aggressive comments, and the growing silence, we became two people who just happened to be related by blood.

I never imagined this would happen. Growing up, she was my confidante, my best friend, the person I could count on no matter what. We shared everything—the good, the bad, and all the moments in between. But somewhere along the way, things got lost. And every time I try to reach out, it feels like I’m trying to break through a wall, only to have it slammed back down in my face.

It started after I got engaged. Maybe that was the catalyst. I don’t know. But something changed when I told her. She seemed happy at first, but over time, I noticed the distance creeping in. She stopped coming over as often. She stopped calling. When we did talk, her tone was cold, detached, as though the excitement that used to be there had vanished.

I tried to brush it off at first. I told myself it was just a phase, that maybe she was just busy with her own life, adjusting to new things. But as time went on, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. The questions started piling up in my mind. Was she jealous of my engagement? Was I taking something from her that I didn’t even know about?

The truth came out one afternoon when we had a huge argument—one of those knock-down-drag-out fights where both of us said things we couldn’t take back. She accused me of changing, of becoming “too good for her.” She told me that ever since I started dating my fiancé, I had become someone else—someone who didn’t care about her anymore. She said I had abandoned her, and when I tried to explain that it wasn’t like that, she wouldn’t listen.

That was the last real conversation we had. After that, I reached out a few times, but she never responded. I tried texting, calling, even showing up at her place, but every time, I was met with silence. Eventually, I stopped trying. And so did she.

And now, here I am—holding a photo of the two of us, back when everything felt right. I can barely recognize the girl in the picture anymore. Who was she? Where did she go? And why did we drift so far apart?

I’ve been trying to make sense of it, and it’s been eating at me. Every time I think about her, I feel like I’m caught in a fog. There are moments when I wonder if she even misses me, or if she’s completely moved on from our past. The truth is, I’ve thought about reaching out again—about sending her a message or giving her a call—but I’m scared. What if she doesn’t want to hear from me? What if she’s really done with me?

It wasn’t until recently, when I was cleaning out some old family documents, that I found something I wasn’t expecting—an old journal that she used to keep when we were teenagers. It was filled with entries about everything—her dreams, her hopes, her struggles. She wrote about me in there, about how much she valued our relationship and how she didn’t want anything to ever come between us.

Reading her words, I felt like I was seeing a completely different person. She was vulnerable in those pages, something I hadn’t seen in years. I realized that maybe I hadn’t been the only one who had changed. Maybe she had too.

I wasn’t sure if reading her journal was a mistake. It felt like I was crossing a boundary that I shouldn’t have crossed, but in that moment, I realized something important. She wasn’t the only one who had changed over the years. I had too. I had gotten caught up in my own life—my own plans, my own happiness—and I had forgotten about her. I hadn’t reached out when I should have, when I knew she needed me the most.

I don’t know if it’s too late. I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. But I do know that I’m tired of letting this silence linger. I’m tired of letting the hurt and resentment between us fester. I want to try again, even if it means risking getting hurt in the process.

So, I decided to write her a letter.

I sat down and poured my heart out, telling her everything that had been on my mind for months. I apologized for all the things I never said, all the times I let her down, all the ways I made her feel small when I should have been there. I told her that I missed her, that I wanted to rebuild what we once had, and that I would do anything to fix it.

I sent the letter, not knowing what kind of response I would get, if any. But then, a few days later, my phone buzzed with a notification. It was a message from her.

I took a deep breath before opening it, preparing myself for whatever might come. But the words on the screen were simple and honest.

“I miss you too. I’ve missed you for a long time. Let’s talk.”

I couldn’t believe it. The knot in my chest loosened, and a weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying lifted. I didn’t know what the future held for us, but for the first time in a long time, there was a glimmer of hope.

We met up the next weekend at a café, and for the first time in what felt like forever, we sat across from each other, talking like we used to. There was still a lot of healing to do, and there were still things that needed to be said, but it was a start. We both knew that rebuilding what we had would take time, but that was okay. We were finally on the same page.

I don’t know what happened in those months we spent apart. I don’t know if it was the pressure of life or just our own insecurities that drove us apart. But I do know this—sometimes, it takes hitting rock bottom to realize just how important the people around you are. It takes losing something to understand just how much you really need it.

And that’s the lesson here. Don’t let pride or fear keep you from reaching out to the people you love. Life is too short to let misunderstandings fester. If you care, if you miss someone, don’t wait. Take that step. You never know how much it might change things.

If you’ve ever been in a situation like this, where you’ve let a relationship slip away, don’t give up hope. Sometimes, all it takes is a simple message or a letter to make a difference. You can’t change the past, but you can shape your future. And it’s never too late to start.

Please share this post if you know someone who might need to hear this. Let’s remind each other that family and friendship are worth fighting for.