"Grace turned 40 today," Sophy muttered, swirling the ruby-red wine in her glass. The candlelight shimmered through the liquid and made her wedding ring flicker like a nervous eye. Across the table, her husband, Kenn, looked up from his phone.

"Still thinking about it?" he asked gently.

Sophy nodded, tracing the rim of her glass. "I can't help it. Forty. Seems like yesterday we were running through sprinklers in her grandma's backyard, whispering secrets under the willow tree."

A warm pang echoed in Kenn's chest. He remembered Grace, too. The fiery redhead who'd been Sophy's shadow all through their childhood, the one who held her hand after Mr. Higgins's parrot got loose and squawked in her face.

"Why haven't you talked to her in so long?" he asked, a question he'd held back for years, not wanting to pry.

Sophy sighed, the air around her crackling with unspoken words. "The fight, remember? Over that internship... it was stupid, really. But pride, oh boy, did it ever run high that summer."

"Pride," Kenn echoed, understanding. He knew Sophy's stubborn streak better than anyone.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind. "What if you reached out? A birthday message, maybe. A chance to clear the air."

Sophy hesitated, then a faint smile touched her lips. "Maybe. Just a message. No promises."

Later that night, curled up in bed with the laptop on her lap, Sophy typed, erased, and typed again. Finally, she settled on a simple message: "Happy 40th, Grace. Missing you, more than you know. Maybe it's time to let bygones be bygones? Wishing you all the best."

Click. Send. A nervous flutter filled her stomach. Would Grace even reply?

The answer came the next morning, bright and bold in her inbox: "Meet me at the willow tree at noon. And bring tissues. We got some reminiscing to do."

The willow tree, their haven of childhood secrets, stood tall and unwavering under the summer sun. Grace, her red hair streaked with gold, sat beneath its shade, a picnic basket beside her.

Sophy's heart pounded in her chest as she approached. Grace looked up, a familiar grin curving her lips. And then, the tears came, flowing freely as they embraced like shipwrecked sailors reaching for land.

The afternoon unfolded in a torrent of laughter and tears. They relived their shared adventures, confessed mistakes, and apologized for pride-fueled words. As the sun dipped low, casting long shadows on the grass, they were more than friends reunited; they were sisters rediscovered.

"Forty," Grace said, wiping a tear, "doesn't seem so bad now, does it?"

Sophy shook her head, a smile blooming on her face. "No, it doesn't. Not at all."

The willow tree, witness to their journey, rustled its leaves in agreement. The estrangement was over, the bond reforged. Four decades had passed, but their friendship, like the ancient tree, had weathered every storm, its roots forever intertwined.