“Go away, you’ve ruined everything,” her sister said, blaming her for the divorce.
Eleanor stood frozen on the doorstep of her sisters flat, clutching bags of pies and a jar of pickled mushroomsjust as she always did, with warmth and care. But the welcome was cold. And the pain, sharp as a knife, cut straight through her heart.
“Emily what on earth are you saying?” 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 anymore because Im just like youso proper, strong, independent. A harpy, in his eyes. And all because you opened your mouth once!”
“But I I never said anything wrong,” Eleanor faltered, unsure whether to step inside or leave.
“Really? What about when you told him about Jane from work? Was that nothing?”
“I only wanted you to know. You were the one who told me you suspected”
“I told you because youre my sister! But you went to him like some wise elder, lecturing him on how to live. Did you really think hed stay after that? He said he was sick of living under pressure. That Id turned into a copy of youclever, self-sufficient, sharp-tongued” Emily waved a hand dismissively. “You know what? I wish youd never come.”
Eleanor took half a step forward, then straightened, set the bags down, and spoke slowly, her voice tight.
“Ill go home. Ill call when youve cooled off.”
“Dont. Dont call. Dont come back. I dont want to see you again.”
Her sisters words lodged in Eleanors chest, stealing her breath. She nodded silently and turned away. The lift creaked as it descended, painfully slow, like a heart gnawed by grief. One thought hammered in her mindwhy had she interfered? Emily hadnt asked. True, shed been worried, but she hadnt asked.
Eleanor lived alone in a two-bedroom flat on the outskirts of town. After her own divorce, shed never let anyone else innor had she wanted to. Her son was grown, living his own life, visiting with the grandchildren on holidays. She worked in a library, quiet and steady, surrounded by books, tea, and elderly readers. Home by eight, a silent supper, the news, knitting. Sometimes, when loneliness crept in, she called Emily. Her sister didnt always answer, but when she did, everything inside Eleanor brightened.
She loved her sister. Perhaps even more than her son. Emily had always been younger, needing protectionfrom bullies, from the maths teacher, from life itself. Then she grew up, beautiful and free-spirited, moved to the city, married in haste. But whenever trouble stirred, she rang Eleanor.
“Hes late again,” shed say.
“Maybe hes working?”
“Oh, sure. With that Jane again. Saw his number in her phone under a heart.”
“Then talk to him.”
“How, when he brushes me off? I cant do it like you. I just cry.”
“Want me to?”
“I dont know Probably not.”
But in the end, she did. And Eleanor, foolishly thinking she could “fix things,” met with George. They ran into each other outside a shop. Eleanor approached him.
“Could we talk?”
He knew at once. Smiled nervously but nodded. They sat on a bench.
“Youre her older sister, arent you?”
“Yes. Listen, I dont mean to interfere. Truly. Its just shes hurting. She doesnt hide things well. This business with Jane”
He waved a hand. “No, no. She just works with us, thats all.”
“Shes in love with you. Its obvious.”
He fell silent.
“Emily isnt a child, but shes not unbreakable. If you dont love her, dont string her along.”
“I do love her. Its just hard. I work, come home, and she suffocates me. Suspects me, calls every half hour. Like Im a criminal. And now here you are. Not just her nagging me, but you too. Its unbearable.”
Eleanor said nothing. Sat with her eyes lowered. Then she stood.
“Right. Im sorry to have troubled you.”
Two weeks later, he left.
After the row, Eleanor didnt call. Couldnt. Emilys facetwisted with anger and tearsburned in her mind. But eventually, she gathered her courage and went back. Unannounced.
Emily answered at once. Dressed in a robe, hair a mess, eyes shadowed by sleepless nights.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was hoarse, hollow.
“Emily Im sorry. Truly. Forgive me.”
Her sister stood silent, staring through her.
“I didnt mean to I thought if he feared being confronted, he wasnt sure. I wanted to protect you.”
“You always think you know best.”
“No. I just Im afraid for you.”
“He texted me, by the way,” Emily said suddenly. “Apologised. Said hed gone too far. That it wasnt about you. That he was just tired of me clingingto him, to you. Said I had to stand on my own. But I dont know how. Without him, Im”
“Youll learn.”
“Why should I?” Emily slumped onto the windowsill. “Im not you. Youre strong. Youve always been alone. Im terrified of silence. It makes my skin crawl.”
“Look at you. You need to eat. Youre white as a sheet.” Eleanor moved to the kitchen, opened the fridge, pulled out leftover soup.
“Stop. Dont fuss. You always want to fix things. It wont work. I have to do it myself. You said so.”
“I did. But that doesnt mean Ill walk away and never return. Im your sister. Ill be here. Even if youre angry with me.”
Emily watched her, silent, then burst into tears. Eleanor held her. So much griefwet shoulders, trembling hands, choked sobs. All the things Emily had never known how to release.
“You know,” she said later, calmer, “I still love him. Maybe always will. But I love you too. You just make me so angry sometimes.”
“Because Im the elder,” Eleanor smiled. “Because I love you and dont know any other way. Forgive me if Ive hurt you.”
“Its my fault too. Maybe you wouldve saved me if not for him. Or maybe I didnt need saving. Maybe he had to leave. Maybe I had to see who I was without him.”
The kettle whistled. Eleanor poured tea, fetched biscuits. They sat wrapped in blankets, watching snow fall outsidesoft, quiet, like childhood. There was something hopeful in it, as if life were beginning anew.
The next day, Emily called.
“Come round this weekend. Well make jam, like we used to. And Ill show you how Ive managed the flateven put up a shelf in the bathroom.”
“A shelf? No!”
“Did it myself. Drilled the holes and everything. Like in the films.”
“Ill be there. With cake and custard.”
They laughed a long time. Then Emily said, softer:
“Thank you, Ellie. For everything.”
“Ill always be here. You know that.”
“I do. I really do now.”
Eleanor hung up and, for the first time in ages, felt warmth unfurl in her chest. Not victory. Not absolution. Just understanding. And love.
The kind only sisters know. Where anything can be forgiveneven the things never asked for.
