“Go away, you ruined everything,” snapped Emily, blaming her sister for the divorce.
Amelia froze in the doorway of her sisters flat, clutching a bag of scones and a jar of homemade chutney. Everything as usualthoughtful, warm. But the welcome was ice. And the painsharp as a knife right through the heart.
“Em what are you even saying?” she murmured. “Have you lost the plot?”
“Oh, absolutely. Anythings possible now. He left. Packed his things and slammed the door. Said he couldnt stand being around me anymore because Im just like you. Too proper, too strong, too independent. A right nag, apparently. And all because you opened your mouth that one time!”
“But I I didnt say anything bad,” Amelia stammered, unsure whether to step in or leave.
“Really? What about when you told him about that Jessica from work? Was that nothing?”
“I just wanted you to know. You were the one who said you suspected”
“I told *you* because youre my sister! But you marched up to him like some know-it-all, lecturing him on life. 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. “Honestly? I wish youd never shown up at all.”
Amelia took half a step forward, then straightened, set the bags down, and said slowly, “Ill go home. Ill call when youve cooled off.”
“Dont. Dont come back. I dont want to see you.”
Her sisters words lodged in her lungs like smoke. Amelia nodded silently and left. The lift creaked down painfully slow, groaning like a heart chewed up by regret. One thought hammered in her chestwhy had she even interfered? Emily *hadnt* asked. Shed been worried, yes, but she *hadnt asked*.
Amelia lived alone in a two-bed flat on the outskirts. After her own divorce, she hadnt bothered with anyone else. Didnt want to. Her son was grown, visited on holidays with the grandkids. She worked at the libraryquiet, predictable, books and tea and elderly regulars. Home by eight, a quiet supper, the telly, knitting. Sometimes, when loneliness pressed too hard, shed ring Emily. Her sister didnt always answer, but when she did, everything inside Amelia lit up.
She loved her sister. Maybe more than her own son. Because Emily was younger, because Amelia had spent a lifetime shielding herfrom playground bullies, from maths teachers, from life itself. Then Emily grew up, turned beautiful and bold, moved to the city, married in a whirlwind. But the minute trouble stirred, shed still call Amelia.
“Hes late again,” shed say.
“Probably work?”
“Sure. With *that* Jessica. Saw his number saved under a heart in her contacts.”
“Well, talk to him.”
“How, when he brushes me off? Im not like you. I just cry.”
“Dyou want me to talk to him?”
“Dont know Probably not.”
But then she *did* want it. And Amelia, foolishly thinking she could “fix” things, met James. Ran into him outside Tesco. Approached him herself.
“Can we talk?”
He knew immediately. Gave a nervous smile but nodded. They sat on a bench.
“Youre her older sister?”
“Yes. Look, I dont mean to meddle. Its just shes hurting. She doesnt hide things well. This Jessica situation”
He cut her off. “Its nothing. She just works with us.”
“Shes in love with you. Its obvious.”
He went quiet.
“Emilys not a child, but shes not unbreakable. If you dont love her, dont string her along.”
“I *do* love her. Its just hard. I work all day, come home, and she suffocates me. Suspects everything, calls every half hour. Like Im some criminal. And now *youre* here. Not just her naggingyou too. Its unbearable.”
Amelia said nothing. Sat there, eyes down. Then stood. “Right. Sorry to bother you.”
Two weeks laterhe left.
After the row, Amelia didnt call. Couldnt. Emilys facetwisted, tear-streaked, furiousburned in her mind. But she finally gathered her courage and turned up unannounced.
Emily answered immediately. Dressed in a tatty dressing gown, hair a mess, eyes shadowed with sleepless nights.
“Whyre you here?” Voice rough, flat.
“Em Im sorry. Really. Forgive me.”
Emily stared past her, silent.
“I didnt mean I thought if he was scared of being confronted, he wasnt sure. I wanted to protect you.”
“You always think you know better.”
“No. Im just scared for you.”
“He texted me, by the way,” Emily said suddenly. “Apologised. Said he overreacted. That it wasnt about you. Just that he was 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 the state of you. You need to eat. Face like a sheet.” Amelia bustled to the kitchen, dug out leftover soup.
“Stop. Dont *fix* things. It wont work. I have to do it myself. You *said* that.”
“I did. But that doesnt mean Ill walk away. Im your sister. Ill be here. Even when youre furious.”
Emily looked at her, silent, then burst into tears. Amelia hugged her. So much griefwet shoulders, trembling hands, hiccupping sobs. Everything Emily had swallowed, never knowing how to let go.
“You know,” she whispered later, calmer, “I still love him. Probably always will. But I love you too. Even when you drive me mad”
“Because Im the big sister,” Amelia smiled. “Because I love you and dont know any other way. Sorry if I hurt you.”
“*I* messed up. Maybe you *wouldve* saved things if not for him. Or maybe its good he left. Maybe I needed to see who I am without him.”
The kettle whistled. Amelia poured tea, fetched biscuits. They sat wrapped in blankets, watching snow float past the windowlike childhood. Something almost hopeful in it, as if life was just beginning.
Next day, Emily rang.
“Come round this weekend. Well make jam, like when we were kids. And Ill show you how I put up shelves*by myself*. Even drilled the holes.”
“*You* used a drill? Blimey!”
“Like a proper DIY show.”
“Ill bring cake.”
They laughed for ages. Then Emily said, softer, “Thanks, Amy. For everything.”
“Im always here. You know that.”
“I do. Now I really do.”
Amelia hung up, warmth unfolding in her chest for the first time in ages. Not victory. Not vindication. Just understanding. And love.
The kind only sisters share. Where anything can be forgiven. Even the things never asked for.
“I bought an apron, look.” Emily tied it with a flourish. “Daisies! With a pocket. Just like Mums, remember?”
“Mm. Hers didnt have a pocket.”
“Well, *mine* does.” She pulled out a spoon and grinned. “For important things. Feel like a proper grown-up.”
“Independence suits you.” Amelia tucked a loose strand behind Emilys ear. “You look good, by the way.”
“Liar. Look at these eyebags. Could store potatoes in em.”
“Still good. Youre *living*. Not moping, not crying. Making jam, drilling shelves Thats something.”
Emily didnt answer. Just glanced at the rain lashing the windowAugust throwing a tantrum, refusing to let summer go.
“He called, actually,” she said suddenly. “Other night.”
Amelia stilled but kept her face neutral. Pressed a lid onto a jar.
“Whatd he say?”
“That he misses me. That its complicated. That we both messed up.”
“And you?”
“Dunno. Didnt say yes or no. Just listened. Then hung up and made soup. What else is there?”
Amelia stirred her tea. Let her talk. Emily propped her chin on her hand.
“Amy howd you do it?
