The afternoon shift at my house had become its own strange ritual—my broken body propped up in the hospital bed Keira had rented, monitors singing their mechanical lullabies, while my chosen family rotated through like guards protecting something too stubborn to die properly. Today it was Phoenix and River tangled together on the chair beside me, Bubba stationed by the window like a mountain refusing to move, and Della commandeering my kitchen with the kind of aggressive care that involved a lot of cursing and even more love.
Mom, you need to eat this fucking soup or I swear to every god that ever was— Della’s voice carried from the kitchen, followed by the crash of something that was probably expensive and definitely didn’t matter.
I’ll... try, I wheezed, my reconstructed windpipe making every word sound like gravel being ground to dust. The feeding tube was gone but swallowing still felt like gargling broken glass mixed with battery acid.
Phoenix looked up from their law textbook, their bruises from that night faded to yellow-green memories. Mom, there’s something we need to ask you about.
River’s hand found Phoenix’s, that protective gesture that had become second nature since the fight. Maybe we should wait—
No, Bubba interrupted from his post, his deep voice carrying weight. Been three weeks. She needs to know we saw.
Saw what? I managed, though even those two words sent lightning through my throat.
Phoenix and River exchanged glances, some silent communication passing between them that tasted like worry.
At the courthouse, River said finally, their nurse’s voice careful, clinical. There was a woman. Sat in the back row. Dark red flowing hair going gray at the temples, probably mid-forties. She watched the whole thing, crying tears, then left before anyone could talk to her.
My heart monitor betrayed me immediately, the steady beep accelerating to something that made River’s professional instincts kick in, their hand moving toward the emergency medications we kept within reach.
Mom? Phoenix’s voice pitched higher with concern. Mom, who was she?
The name sat in my throat like a stone, like thirty years of silence made solid. The Sister.
Who the fuck? Della emerged from the kitchen wielding a ladle like a weapon, soup splattered on her apron like battle paint.
My sister. The words came out broken, not just from the physical damage but from something deeper, older. Baby sister.
Bubba turned from the window, his weathered face creasing with confusion. How long since you seen her, girl?
Nineteen years, I wheezed, feeling tears start their familiar track down my face. No... contact. Nothing.
Fuck me sideways with a rusty spoon, Della breathed, setting down the ladle with unusual gentleness. Nineteen years?
Phoenix pulled their chair closer to my bed, their legal mind already working through the implications. Mom, what happened? With everything Zoe did to you and John, what about—
The sob that tried to escape turned into a coughing fit that brought up flecks of blood. River was immediately in nurse mode, checking my vitals, adjusting pillows, their hands steady and sure.
Easy, Mom. Breathe. Small breaths.
When I could finally speak again, the words came in fragments, each one carved from memory and pain. When she was born, Zoe didn’t care for her, not like a mother was supposed to anyway, so I did it. My maternal instincts were all born out of my love for her.
I had to stop, the memories flooding back with violence that rivaled any physical beating. Little Sister with her brown eyes so much like Helen’s. The Sister’s tiny fist wrapped around my finger. The Sister’s first laugh, which I’d coaxed from her with silly faces when Zoe wasn’t watching.
I tried to be a mom, I managed, the confession ripping something open that had been scarred shut for decades. Bottle feeding. Diaper changes. Rocking her. All of it.
Jesus fucking Christ, Della whispered, sinking into a chair like her legs had given out.
Every maternal instinct I had— The tears were flowing freely now, each one carrying nineteen years of grief. Went to...her.
Phoenix was crying now too, their hand finding mine, careful of the IVs and bandages. Mom—
NO! I snapped, the memory tearing through me like glass. No one touches The Sister. No one approaches her. Everyone leaves her alone. Understand?
Bubba’s sharp intake of breath cut through the room. He knew. They all knew.
The Sister is an innocent. And none more than any other, ‘cept Gizmo, my kids, and Keira have my love. It is love that will never be returned, but no one talks about her, and no one approaches her. EVER. Are we clear? I commanded. The pain in my chest was tight. And hard.
Della got up, paced to the window and back, her usual composure shattered. Yes, I understand. Well maybe I don’t though. So what happened? Why nineteen years of nothing?
The hardest part. The part that still woke me at night sometimes, wondering what if, wondering how different everything might have been.
I lied to her, I started, each word feeling like swallowing glass. I destroyed her trust. Made promises I couldn’t keep. Failed her when she needed me most.
And? Phoenix prompted gently when I stopped, unable to continue.
She cut me off completely. Told me to never contact her again. The words came out as a sob that my broken body couldn’t properly support, turning into a wet, choking sound that made River check my oxygen levels. That was nineteen years ago. I haven’t... atoned enough. Haven’t earned... the right to even... speak her name.
Mom— Phoenix started.
You don’t understand, I wheezed, the guilt crushing my chest worse than any broken rib. What I did to her—it was unforgivable. I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I don’t deserve to even be in the same room as her. She’s innocent. She’s always been innocent. And I—
Motherfucker, Bubba’s curse was quiet but vicious, carrying all the weight of understanding what that rejection must have cost.
The room went silent except for my labored breathing and the steady beep of machines. Even Della had stopped moving, frozen by the weight of that kind of severing.
But she came to the courthouse, River said finally, their logical mind working through the implications. After nineteen years of silence, she came.
Why? I asked the air, the universe, The Mother herself. Why now? It’s a torture to me. But it is my burden. I don’t deserve to know. I don’t deserve—
My voice broke completely, dissolving into sobs that shook my broken ribs, made my reconstructed throat scream, turned the monitors into a symphony of alarm. But I couldn’t stop. Nineteen years of grief and guilt poured out like blood from a wound that had never properly closed.
Phoenix climbed carefully onto the bed beside me, holding my hand. River took my other side, professional distance abandoned for human comfort.
Maybe, Phoenix said softly, maybe she needed to see who you really are now. Not Zoe’s version. Not the person who hurt her. But you—the real you, fighting for your life, surrounded by people who love you.
She doesn’t need to see me. She doesn’t need anything from me. I have stayed quiet and away from her on purpose, I wheezed between sobs. She knows I’m still living, that is enough.
Or maybe, Bubba said quietly from his post, she saw you refuse to let hate win. Saw you ask for treatment for John instead of prison. Saw you choose healing over vengeance.
She doesn’t know me, I sobbed. Doesn’t know what I’ve become or where or why. And she shouldn’t have to. I don’t deserve that chance. Not after what I did.
Della returned from the kitchen with a warm cloth, gently wiping the tears and snot from my face with a tenderness that seemed to surprise even her. You’re a better person now than whoever you were then. Look around this room. Look at all these kids who’d die for you.
That doesn’t matter, I whispered fiercely. Nothing I do now changes what I did then. Nothing makes me worthy of her forgiveness. She’s innocent. She was always innocent. And I—
Della’s phone buzzed. She looked at it, frowned, then her eyes went wide.
What? River asked, catching the look on her face.
Della’s eyes met Phoenix’s, then River’s. Some silent communication passed between them that made my stomach drop.
Nothing, Della said, too quickly. Just—I need to step out for a second.
Della— I started.
Bubba, keep Mom company, Della said, already moving toward the door. Phoenix, River, come with me.
What the fuck is going on? I demanded, trying to sit up.
Bubba moved from the window to the bedside, his massive presence suddenly between me and the door. Easy now, girl. Let them handle whatever it is.
Handle WHAT? My voice cracked with panic. Bubba—
Hush, he said gently, sitting in the chair Phoenix had vacated. You been through enough today. Just rest.
But through the open door, I could hear them—hushed, urgent voices from somewhere downstairs. Della’s. Phoenix’s. River’s. And was that—was that Miguel’s voice on speakerphone?
Bubba, who’s here? I grabbed his arm. What’s happening?
Don’t know yet, he said, and I could tell he was being honest. But whatever it is, they’ll figure it out.
I need to know—
You need to rest, he interrupted firmly. Let your family take care of things.
From downstairs, the voices grew louder, more heated. I could catch fragments—Della’s sharp tone, Phoenix’s protest, River’s calm reasoning. But the words themselves were lost, just the emotion carrying up through the old house.
Bubba, please—
Just be quiet, he said suddenly.
It was a distraction and we both knew it. But something in his eyes—that gentle insistence—made me realize he was doing this on purpose. Keeping me occupied. Keeping me from hearing what was happening downstairs.
What are they doing? I whispered.
Taking care of family, he said simply. Now talk to me. What was she like? The Sister?
And because I was trapped in bed, because Bubba’s bulk blocked any view of the door, because the panic was clawing at my throat and I needed something—anything—to focus on, I started talking. About The Sister’s laugh. About how she’d grip my finger. About singing her to sleep when Zoe was too drunk or too angry or too gone to care.
Downstairs, the voices continued. Rising and falling like a storm I couldn’t see but could feel building.
In the kitchen, Della had Phoenix and River huddled around her phone, Miguel’s face visible on the screen.
—sitting in her car outside, Miguel was saying, his sultry voice tight with stress. She’s been there for almost an hour. Finally came in, asked for William. I told her—I told her there’s no William here. Only Wendy. And she—fuck, she started crying.
Did she say who she is? River asked.
Said she’s Wendy’s sister. That she hasn’t seen her in nineteen years. That there’s bad blood between them. She keeps saying she shouldn’t have come, that she doesn’t deserve—
Fucking Christ, Della breathed. It’s The Sister.
Phoenix’s face went pale. Mom explicitly said no one approaches her. No one talks to her. She was clear.
I know what she said, Della snapped. But that woman is sitting at my bar crying her eyes out, saying alot of things.
Della, we can’t just—
The fuck we can’t, Della interrupted. Miguel, is she still there?
Yeah, but she keeps saying she should go. That she made a mistake. That Wendy wouldn’t want to see her.
Don’t let her leave, Della commanded. Tell her—tell her about Wendy. About what happened in the fight. About John. About us.
What? Miguel’s eyes went wide. Della, Mom said—
I know what she said! But you heard her up there. She thinks she doesn’t deserve forgiveness. Thinks she hasn’t atoned enough. And I guarantee you that woman i front of you has no idea what’s going on here.
Phoenix shook their head. This isn’t our decision to make. Mom was explicit. The Sister is innocent. We don’t approach her. We don’t—
We don’t enable Wendy’s guilt spiral anymore, Della cut in. That’s what we don’t do. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me watching her destroy herself over this is what we should keep doing.
Silence.
Miguel, River said carefully. What do you think The Sister needs to hear?
Miguel’s face on the screen showed his internal struggle. I don’t know. She keeps saying she believed lies about Wendy for nineteen years. That she said terrible things. That she cut Wendy out of her life.
Then tell her the truth, Della said firmly. Tell her Wendy has been healing here. That she has a family who loves her.
And then what? Phoenix demanded. We can’t just bring her here without Mom’s permission. You heard her. The Sister is innocent. She has to be protected. We can’t—
We bring her here, Della said flatly.
Della, no—
We bring her here, Della repeated. Because they’re both being eaten alive by guilt and pain that’s killing them. And I’m done watching it. We protect The Sister, yes. We keep her safe, yes. But we also don’t let Wendy keep punishing herself for being someone who failed to do the impossible.
River looked between them, torn. If we do this, Wendy will never forgive us.
Maybe not, Della agreed. But she’s alive. And The Sister is alive. And they both deserve a chance to stop carrying guilt that’s crushing them.
Phoenix ran their hands through their hair. This is insane. Mom will lose her mind. She’ll—she might hurt herself trying to get away. She’ll—
Bubba will keep her in bed, Della said. And we’ll deal with the fallout. But Miguel—you talk to The Sister. Tell her everything. Let her make the choice. If she doesn’t want to come, we don’t force it. But if she does—
Then what? Miguel asked.
Then you bring her here, Della said. And we face what happens.
This is fucking crazy, Phoenix muttered.
Yeah, Della agreed. But so is watching both of them bleed out from guilt. Miguel, talk to her. Tell her about Wendy. About the fight. About the family. About everything. Let her decide.
Miguel nodded slowly. And if she wants to come?
Then bring her. And we deal with Wendy’s reaction when it happens.
I can’t believe we’re doing this, River said.
We’re doing it because we love her, Della said firmly. Both of them. Now move. We don’t have much time before Wendy realizes something’s wrong.
Upstairs, I was still talking to Bubba, but my voice kept trailing off, my attention pulled toward the sounds below. The voices had gone quiet now. Too quiet.
Bubba, what are they—
Don’t know, he said. But I trust them. You should too.
You don’t understand, I whispered. If it’s—if it’s her—
If it’s who?
The Sister, I breathed, and the name came out like a prayer and a curse. If she’s here, if they—I haven’t atoned. I haven’t—she’s innocent, Bubba. She has to stay innocent. She can’t see me like this. Can’t see what I’ve become. Can’t—
Hush now, Bubba said gently. You’re working yourself up over nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing. I could feel it. Something was happening. Something that would change everything. And I was trapped here, in this bed, in this broken body, unable to stop it.
Minutes passed. Five. Ten. The house had gone silent. No voices. No movement.
Then—footsteps on the front porch. The door opening. Closing. Quiet voices in the foyer.
Bubba—
Rest, girl, he said, but his eyes had moved to the door, alert now, protective.
More footsteps. On the stairs now. Slow. Multiple people. Coming closer.
My heart monitor started beeping faster. Bubba, who’s here? Who’s in my house?
Don’t know, he said. But we about to find out.
The footsteps reached the landing. Paused. Then continued down the hallway.
No, I whispered. No, please, not—
The door opened. Della stepped in first, her face set in that expression that said she’d made a decision and fuck the consequences. Behind her, Phoenix and River, their faces pale but determined.
And behind them—
She’s innocent, I whispered, one last desperate plea. She’s always been innocent.
The bedroom door opened slowly.
And there she was.
The Sister stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her face, her hand pressed to her mouth. Dark red hair going gray at the temples. Forty-two years old. Helen’s eyes. Zoe’s jawline. A stranger and the most familiar person in the world.
She looked at me—really looked—taking in the hospital bed, the bandages, the monitors, the broken body that had almost died three weeks ago. Taking in my face, older now, different, but still somehow the same sister who’d held her when she cried.
Our eyes met.
XXXXXX