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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