I grew up in a dysfunctional family. My father was abusive, and when my mother left us when I was ten, my younger sister Cheryl became his favorite. They turned against me, and I moved out at 18, determined to start fresh.

Years later, I received an unexpected email from Cheryl asking for money to help her sick son. Despite our estrangement, I sent the money, hoping to help an innocent child. But when I visited Cheryl’s house to check on the situation, I found our father there, yet there was no sign of the child she mentioned.

An old classmate, John, later revealed that Cheryl had claimed I was imagining things and had been hospitalized for hallucinations. “She doesn’t have a kid,” John told me, leaving me hurt and confused. It turned out that Cheryl had fabricated the story to manipulate me into helping our father, who had never cared about me.

Back in San Francisco, I’m left questioning if I made the right decision. Should I have confronted Cheryl and our father? Could I have changed anything by facing them? My therapist’s advice keeps resonating: “There’s no going back.”

Writing this down helps me process my emotions, but I’m still haunted by the “what could have been.” I wonder if confronting them might have altered the course of events or provided some resolution.