I have a lot to say and I hope you read it all... My sister and I shared everything. Not in the cute matching-outfits way people imagine. We shared in the practical way. One wardrobe, one phone charger, one set of secrets we never thought would break us.

She’s older than me by two years. Growing up, that felt like a lifetime. She knew things first. Boys, heartbreak, how to lie convincingly. I followed her lead in everything. If she said something was safe, I believed her. When our parents fought, we hid in the same room and pretended it was a sleepover. When one of us was punished, the other felt it too. When she cried, I didn’t ask why, I just sat close. People used to say we were inseparable. I just thought that meant unbreakable.

As adults, the sharing didn’t stop. We talked every day. Sent voice notes about work, about money stress, about how exhausting it was to keep pretending we were fine. I knew when she was lying to her boyfriend. She knew when I was scared about my future. There were no locked doors between us. Or so I thought. It started with small things going missing. A top I couldn’t find. Earrings that were suddenly in her room. She’d laugh and say, 'You know we share.' And I’d laugh too. Because we always had. Then one day, she borrowed my phone to make a call. Later that night, I noticed messages read that I didn’t remember opening. Conversations I didn’t remember replying to. Nothing dramatic. Just… unfamiliar.

I asked her about it.

She said I was overthinking.

That word felt heavier than it should have.

After that, I started noticing gaps. Stories she told that didn’t quite line up. Things she knew that I hadn’t told her yet. People mentioning conversations I didn’t remember having.

Still, I said nothing.

Because questioning her felt like questioning the foundation of my life.

The truth came out on an ordinary afternoon. No didn't shout, it was just a sentence said too casually.

She said 'I didn’t think it would matter.'

She had been using my name for things. Not illegal or dramatic things. Just… personal ones. Messages. Conversations. Moments where she wanted to speak freely without consequences.

She said it felt natural. After all, we were sisters. She said she thought I wouldn’t mind. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to shout. But all I felt was tiredness. I was just tired.

It wasn’t about what she did. It was about how easily she stepped into my space. How comfortable she was wearing my identity...how comfortable she was being me. How blurred the line between us had become, without my consent.

I realized then that sharing everything had slowly turned into losing something.

I don’t know when that happened.

I don’t know if we crossed the line together, or if she crossed it alone and I just didn’t notice.

We still talk. Not like before.

There are pauses now. Careful sentences. A quiet awareness that something precious cracked and we don’t know how to name it.

Sometimes I miss the closeness.

Sometimes I wonder if closeness is just another word for not knowing where you end.

I still love her. I just don’t know where I fit anymore 😔