My sister and I walked the same road—same medical school, same sleepless nights. But when it was over, our parents cleared her debt… and left mine behind.

My mother replied the next morning with a single sentence: We agree to everything.

I didn’t believe her, not entirely. Love had always come with footnotes in our house.

The university club had carpet that made footsteps sound like apologies. A harpist in a corner played songs you recognize only when they end. Name cards marked every table. Ours read Dr. Jessica Collins and Dr. Audrey Collins in identical fonts, side by side.

Aunt Patty hugged me hard enough to pop buttons. “Don’t cause a scandal,” she whispered in my ear, the way some people say I love you. “And if you do, make sure your lipstick stays on.”

Jessica squeezed my hand beneath the tablecloth. My parents approached looking like people about to step onto thin ice. My mother’s dress was the blue she wears when she wants to look harmless. My father had chosen the tie I bought him for his sixtieth birthday. They were trying.

“Thank you for coming,” my mother said. “We know—” She stopped, reset. “We are sorry.”

It wasn’t a speech. It wasn’t enough. It was also more than I had expected.