It started as a quiet conversation, just the two of us sitting in the living room. Emily, her eyes red from crying, looked at me with a determination that chilled me. "Sarah," she began, her voice trembling yet firm, "you have to give me Michael. He should have been mine. I lost my baby, and you have him. It’s only fair."I stared at her, unable to believe what I was hearing. "Emily, you can't be serious. Michael is my son. You know how much he means to me."Her face twisted in frustration. "I lost everything! You have a chance to give me a piece of what I've lost. Don't you see? I need him. I deserve him."The air between us thickened with unspoken words. I knew she was hurting, and I wanted to help her heal, but her demand was impossible. Michael was my world, my joy, and I couldn't just hand him over, not even to my own sister."Emily," I said softly, trying to reach the sister I once knew, "Michael is not a replacement. He’s a person, a child who needs his mother. I can't give him to you."Her eyes flashed with anger. "So, you'd rather see me suffer? You have him, and I have nothing. How can you be so selfish?"The argument spiraled out of control. Emily accused me of being cruel, of not caring about her loss. I tried to explain that taking Michael away from me wouldn’t ease her pain, but she refused to listen. The desperation in her voice turned into venom, each word cutting deeper than the last.Days turned into weeks, and the tension only grew. Emily became more insistent, even attempting to take Michael without my permission. I had to put locks on my doors, a measure I never thought I'd need against my own sister. Our once close-knit family became fractured, with relatives taking sides, some sympathizing with Emily's loss, others horrified by her demands.I sought legal advice, knowing I had to protect my son. The lawyers assured me that my rights as his mother were secure, but it did little to ease my heartache. The sister I loved had turned into someone I barely recognized, consumed by grief and jealousy.One night, Emily showed up at my doorstep, disheveled and pleading. "Please, Sarah," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Just let me be part of his life. I need him."I felt a pang of sorrow for her. "Emily, I want you to be part of his life, but you have to understand that he is my child. We can find a way for you to be his aunt, to love him without taking him from me."She nodded, though the sadness in her eyes lingered. It was the first step toward healing, but the damage was done. The trust between us was shattered, replaced by a fragile truce. The road ahead would be long and difficult, filled with awkward family gatherings and strained smiles.As I held Michael close that night, I couldn’t shake the feeling of loss. Not just for Emily’s child, but for the relationship we had once shared. Revenge and demands born of grief had almost torn us apart, and I was left wondering if we could ever truly mend the rift.