Rachel and I had been at odds for as long as I could remember. We fought over everything, from who got to sit in the front seat to who had to do the chores to what shows to watch. After she went to college, the house got quiet because I was still in high school. It was a relief. But every time she came home for a break, the tension came back, and our fights started up again right where they had left off. Our mother, Julia, would cry and beg us to stay together no matter what.
Things changed when our mom got really sick. Since her father had been gone for years, she had no family to turn to, so she asked Rachel for aid. I will always remember how weak Mom’s fingers seemed when they held Rachel’s wrist in the hospital bed. “Please don’t go, Emma,” she begged in a voice that was almost a whisper. She will have to live in a group home if something happened to me. “Promise me you’ll be there for her when you get home from school.” Rachel didn’t answer, at least not in a way that could be heard. She went to the funeral but left soon after.
I waited for months at the shelter where they put me. I contacted her on the day she got her diploma. She picked up, paused for a second, and then hung up without saying anything. After that, I never heard her speak again. The silence that came after stung more than any fight we had ever had. I told myself I hated her, but I was really just hurt.
Mark and Elena, a nice couple, finally took me in. They didn’t only give me a place to live; they gave me a second chance. They organized a party for me when I graduated from high school, and when I earned my real estate license, they cheered louder than anyone else. Elena used to say to me, “No matter what happens, you’re family now.” We’ll be there in no time.
Years passed. I worked hard as a real estate agent in my hometown to make a life I was proud of. One afternoon, the phone rang. The hospital called. “Is this Emma Sullivan?” the nurse said in a pleasant but firm voice. Rachel Sullivan has you listed as her emergency contact. Sorry, but… Your sister passed away this morning due to issues that arose after she gave birth. She has two sons. “You are the next of kin.”
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I had no idea she was going to have a baby. I didn’t know she still had my name as her emergency contact. Why now? Why did she let me back into her life after years of nothing? I was outraged. How could she leave me and then expect me to step in?
I called Mark and Elena, the only two people who had helped me through my last breakup. Elena’s voice was calm. “Emma, I know what happened with you and Rachel.” But the babies didn’t do anything wrong. Just go to the emergency room. You don’t have to decide anything today; just look at them. Mark whispered softly, “You might find more than just answers.”
A nurse led me to a little room at the hospital. There were two little boys sleeping in bassinets that were so small they looked fake. I couldn’t stop looking at it. The nurse handed me an envelope. “Your sister wrote the letter the day before she gave birth.”
I opened it with hands that were shaking.
“Emma, I know it’s probably too late. You might not even look at this. But I’m sorry. I made a lot of mistakes, but the worst one was leaving you when you needed me the most. I thought I was doing what was best for me, but now that I’m a mom, I understand why Mom wanted me to stay. I can feel the love, the terror, and the need to protect now. I don’t think they will forgive me. Please, please take care of my boys. Don’t let them be alone in the world. Please, Emma. — Rachel, with love.
It was hard to read the words because of the tears. I was still angry and hurt in some ways. But another part of me knew that she had tried in her own way. I learned that the boys’ father left as soon as he found out about the pregnancy, much like our father left Mom. It was almost like history was repeating itself.
I spent hours just watching the boys sleep and noticing how innocent they appeared. They had no idea how much pain was coming their way. They shouldn’t have felt alone. I called Elena again. My voice shattered. “I don’t know what to do, but I can’t let them grow up not knowing that someone loves them.” After a while, she said gently, “It sounds like you know what to do.”
I signed the papers the next day that gave me guardianship. I gave them the names Marcus and Eli after the two men who taught me what it really means to love someone without limitations. I knew I wasn’t ready in the normal sense when I brought them home to my small apartment, but I was confident of one thing: they would never doubt that they were welcome.
As they got older, I told them stories about their mother and grandmother. Every year on their birthday, we went to their graves and put new flowers there. I didn’t keep the past a secret, but I made sure they knew Rachel loved them and tried to make things right in the end. Sometimes I could see her in their hazel eyes or in the way they looked when they were angry. It hurt, but it also made things better. I finally forgave her.
I wish we could have talked before she died, maybe even started over. She might have said sorry by giving me the most important item to her. Today, Marcus and Eli are doing well. There is love, noise, and mess all around us. Marcus and Eli are having a good day. There is a lot of love, noise, and clutter in our life. When they fight like brothers do, I remind them of what our mother told Rachel and me: “No matter what happens, you stick together.” They roll their eyes a lot, but I’m sure they’re listening. In the end, choosing love over anger has not only helped them, but it has also saved me. They usually roll their eyes, but I know they hear what I’m saying.
In the end, choosing love over hate didn’t just save them; it saved me too.