“I said it’s okay!”
We stood by the fridge, in the kitchen.
A cold breeze sent chills through my guilty body.
She stood next to me, closest to the fridge door.
I saw anger written on her face.
Frown lines appeared to mar her usually dimpled face.
“I said I forgive you!” she interrupted my attempt at a further apology.
I turned and walked away sheepishly.
Gutted over having drank my sister’s cranberry juice.