My older sister, “Anna” (who would be 36F), and I (34F) were incredibly close growing up. Even though we didn’t share many common interests, we never fought or drifted apart. When Anna went to college, I followed her to the same school. When I got a promotion and moved to a new city, she moved too. We were each other’s biggest supporters, and our bond never wavered.
Anna struggled with depression, which ran in our family—our paternal grandmother also suffered from mental illness. During her sophomore year of college, Anna attempted to take her own life multiple times. She took a year off to recover, was put on antidepressants, and eventually returned to school. Our parents largely ignored her struggles, dismissing them as “heartbreak” or “just a phase.”
When she returned to college, we became roommates and leaned on each other. It helped her heal, and we became closer than ever. She started joining clubs, going to parties, and building a life again. We had a semi-codependent relationship, but it worked for us.
During her senior year, a mutual friend introduced her to David (42M). While I didn’t particularly like him, Anna did, and they eventually married. David came from a traditional family, which conflicted with Anna’s firm decision never to have children. She had a deep fear of pregnancy and childbirth, compounded by her mental health struggles and anxiety about going off her SSRIs. Despite her feelings, David began pressuring her to have biological children after five years of marriage.
Eventually, David convinced Anna to remove her IUD and try for a baby, despite her previous stance and fears. She tapered off her antidepressants quickly because David wanted to “get started.” A few months later, Anna became pregnant with twins. Her pregnancy was physically and emotionally taxing—she couldn’t take her medication, suffered severe symptoms, and developed worse body image issues. David’s demanding job kept him away, so I moved in to help.
At one point, Anna seemed genuinely excited about the twins, saying they would have a bond like ours. I left for a short work trip, feeling hopeful for the first time in months. But when I returned, Anna was gone. At just four months pregnant, she couldn’t take it anymore.
I couldn’t stay in the city after her death and relocated abroad for work. While I kept in touch with family, I avoided returning for two years. When I finally came back to the US, I agreed to meet David and my parents for dinner.
At first, things were fine—we reminisced about Anna and caught up on life. But when the topic of her death came up, tensions flared. My parents and David expressed anger that I left after Anna’s passing, leaving them to handle her affairs. David broke down and admitted he blamed Anna for the loss of their unborn children, saying he wished she had died in an accident so he could blame someone else.
Hearing this, I lost control. I stood up and yelled, “If anyone killed Anna, it was you.” My parents immediately kicked me out, rushing to comfort David. Since then, they’ve been bombarding me with angry voicemails and texts, even accusing me of being responsible for Anna’s death.
My older brother, John, has tried to mediate, but even he thinks I should apologize to David for my comment, saying it was cruel and unnecessary. But I can’t bring myself to apologize to the man I believe pushed my sister to the brink.
So, AITA?
