“Get out, you’ve ruined everything,” snapped Emily, blaming her sister for the divorce.
Charlotte froze on the doorstep of Emilys flat, clutching bags of homemade scones and a jar of pickled onionsthoughtful, as always. But the warmth shed brought was met with ice. A sharp, twisting pain, like a knife through the heart.
“Em what on earth are you talking about?” she murmured. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Oh, absolutely. Anythings possible now. Hes gone. Packed his things and slammed the door. Said he couldnt stand being near me because Im just like you. Too proper, too strong, too independent. A right nightmare, according to him. All because you opened your mouth once!”
“But I I never said anything wrong,” Charlotte wavered, unsure whether to step inside or leave.
“Really? What about when you told him about Jessica from work? Was that nothing?”
“I just wanted you to know. You were the one who told me you suspected”
“I told you because youre my sister! And then you marched up to him like some know-it-all, lecturing him on how to live. Did you really think hed stay after that? Said he was sick of living under pressure. That Id turned into your carbon copy. Clever, capable, cold” Emily waved a hand dismissively. “You know what? Maybe you should just stay away.”
Charlotte took half a step forward, then straightened, set the bags down, and spoke slowly, carefully.
“Ill go home. Ill call later, when youve cooled off.”
“Dont. Dont call. Dont come back. I dont want to see you again.”
The words lodged in Charlottes chest, stealing her breath. She nodded silently and left. The lift descended painfully slowly, creaking like a heart gnawed by regret. One thought pounded in her ribs: Why had she interfered? Emily hadnt asked. Sure, shed been worried, but no, she hadnt asked.
Charlotte lived alone in a two-bedroom flat on the outskirts of town. After her own divorce, she hadnt bothered with another relationship. Didnt fancy it. Her grown son lived separately, visiting with the grandkids on holidays. She worked at the libraryquiet, peaceful, surrounded by books, tea, and elderly regulars. Home by eight, a quiet supper, the news, knitting. Sometimes, when loneliness crept in, shed call Emily. Her sister didnt always answer, but when she did, everything inside Charlotte brightened.
She loved Emily. Maybe more than her own son. Because Emily was younger, because Charlotte had spent a lifetime shielding herfrom school bullies, from the maths teacher, from life itself. Then Emily grew up, blossomed, moved to the city, married in a whirlwind. But whenever trouble stirred, she still rang Charlotte.
“Hes late again,” shed say.
“Work, maybe?”
“Yeah. With that Jessica. Saw his number saved under a heart in her phone.”
“Well, talk to him.”
“How, when he just brushes me off? Im not like you. I cry straight away.”
“Want me to talk to him?”
“I dont know Probably not.”
But eventually, she did want it. And Charlotte, naively thinking she could “fix things,” met James. They ran into each other outside Tesco. Charlotte approached him first.
“Could we talk?”
He knew immediately. Smiled nervously but nodded. They sat on a bench.
“Youre her older sister, right?”
“Yes. Listen, I dont mean to interfere, really. Its just shes hurting. Shes not good at hiding it. This thing with Jessica”
He cut her off. “Nothings going on. She just works with us.”
“Shes in love with you. Its obvious.”
He fell silent.
“Emilys not a child, but shes not unbreakable either. If you dont love her, dont string her along.”
“I do love her. Its just hard. I come home from work, and she suffocates me. Suspects me, calls every half-hour. Like Im some criminal. And now youre here. Not just her on my case, but you too. Its unbearable.”
Charlotte said nothing. Just sat there, eyes down. Then she stood and said softly, “Right. Sorry to bother you.”
Two weeks laterhe was gone.
After the row, Charlotte didnt call. Couldnt. Emilys faceangry, tear-streaked, twistedhaunted her. But eventually, she mustered the courage to visit. Unannounced.
Emily answered straight away. Dressed in a dressing gown, hair a mess, eyes shadowed with sleepless nights.
“Why are you here?” Her voice was hoarse, flat.
“Em Im sorry. Truly. Forgive me.”
Emily just stood there, staring past her.
“I never meant I thought if he was scared of honesty, he wasnt worth it. I wanted to protect you.”
“You always think you know best.”
“No. Im just afraid for you.”
“He texted me, by the way,” Emily said suddenly. “Apologised. Said hed overreacted. That it wasnt about you. That he was just tired of me clingingto him, to you. Said I needed to stand on my own. But I dont know how. Without him, Im just”
“Youll learn.”
“Why bother?” Emily slumped onto the windowsill. “Im not you. Youre strong. Always alone. Im terrified of silence. It makes me shake.”
“Look at you. You should eat. Youre pale as a sheet.” Charlotte moved to the kitchen, opened the fridge, pulled out leftover soup.
“Stop. Dont fix it. You cant this time. I have to do it myself. You said so.”
“I did. But that doesnt mean Ill walk away and never come back. Im your sister. Ill be here. Even when youre cross with me.”
Emily just watched her, silent, then suddenly burst into tears. Charlotte hugged her tight. The grief was overwhelmingdamp shoulders, trembling hands, hiccupping sobs. Everything Emily had bottled up, unable to let go.
“You know,” she said later, calmer, “I still love him. Probably always will. But I love you too. You just drive me mad sometimes”
“Because Im the big sister,” Charlotte smiled. “Because I love you and dont know any other way. Sorry if I hurt you.”
“Its my fault too. Maybe youd have saved me if not for him. Or maybe I didnt need saving. Maybe him leaving was what I needed. To figure out who I am without him.”
The kettle whistled. Charlotte poured tea, fetched biscuits. They sat quietly, wrapped in blankets, watching snow fall outsidesoft, gentle, like childhood. There was something hopeful in it, something bright. As if life was just beginning.
The next day, Emily rang first.
“Come round this weekend. Well make jam, like when we were kids. And Ill show you how I put up shelves myself. Even one in the bathroom.”
“Shelves? No way!”
“Did it all. Even used a drill. Like in the films.”
“Ill be there. With cake and lemonade.”
They laughed forever on the phone. Then Emily said, quieter, “Thanks, Char. For everything.”
“Ill always be here. You know that.”
“I do. I really do now.”
Charlotte hung up and felt warmth unfurl in her chestnot victory, not vindication. Just understanding. And love.
The kind only sisters share. Where anything can be forgiven. Even the things never asked for.
“Got myself an apron too,” Emily said, tying it deftly. “Look! Daisies, with a pocket. Just like Mums, remember?”
“Course. Hers didnt have a pocket, though.”
“Mine does.” Emily pulled out a spoon and grinned. “For important business. Feels proper grown-up.”
“Well, independence suits you,” Charlotte said, tucking a loose strand behind Emilys ear. “You look good, by the way.”
“Liar. Look at these bags. Could store socks in them.”
“Still good. Youre living. Not wallowing, not weeping. Making jam, putting up shelves Not everyone can do that.”
Emily didnt answer. Just glanced at the window, where rain lashed against the glass. August had turned fickle, clinging to summer like a stubborn child.
“He rang, by the way,” she said suddenly. “Couple days ago.”
Charlotte stilled but kept her face neutral. Carefully pressed a lid onto a jar.
“Whatd he say?”
“That he misses me. That its complicated. That were both to blame.”
“And you?”
“Dunno. Didnt say yes or no. Just
