Rachel and I had been battling for a long time. We fought about everything, from who got to sit in the front seat to who had to perform chores to what shows we should watch. The house was silent once she left for college. I was still in high school at the time. It was a big 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’ll always remember how weak Mom’s fingers seemed when they held Rachel’s wrist in that hospital bed. “Please don’t go, Emma,” she begged in a voice that was almost a whisper. If something happens to me, she will have to live in a group home. “Promise me you’ll be there for her when you get home from school.” Rachel didn’t say anything, at least not in a way that could be heard. She stayed for the funeral, but not for long.
I waited for months at the shelter where they put me. I called her the day she graduated. She answered, paused for a while, and then hung up without saying anything. After that, I never heard her speak again. The silence that followed stung more than any fight we’d ever had. I told myself I hated her, but I was really just hurt.
Mark and Elena, a nice couple, eventually took me in. They didn’t only provide me a place to live; they gave me a new opportunity at life. They threw me a party for my high school graduation and shouted louder than anyone else when I received my real estate license. Elena constantly said, “You’re family now, no matter what.” We’ll be there with only one call.
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 complications arising from childbirth. 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 so long? I was outraged. How could she leave me and then expect me to help?
I got in touch with Mark and Elena, the only two people who had been there for me after 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. You should just go to the ER. You don’t have to choose today; just look at them. Mark whispered softly, “You might find more than just answers.”
A nurse brought me to a little room at the hospital. Two young boys were sleeping in bassinets that looked too small to be real. 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 my hands 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 know how Mom felt when she told me to stay. I can feel it now: the love, the fear, and the need to keep safe. I don’t think people will forgive me. But please take care of my boys. Don’t let them be alone in the world. Please, Emma. — With love, Rachel.
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 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 to feel 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 if someone loves them.” After a moment, she said in a hushed voice, “It sounds like you know what to do.”
I signed the papers the next day that gave me guardianship. I named them Marcus and Eli after the two men who showed me how 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 became older, I told them stories about their mom and grandparents. We lay new flowers on their graves every year on their birthday. 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. 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. Maybe this was her way of saying sorry: she gave me the most important item to her. Today, Marcus and Eli are doing well. Love, noise, and mess are all around us. Marcus and Eli are having a good day. There is love, noise, and clutter in our lives. I tell them what our mother told Rachel and me when they fight like brothers: “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 helped them and saved me as well. They usually roll their eyes, but I know they hear what I’m saying.
In the end, choosing love over hate saved not only them, but also me.
