“Hey, Joe … I’m sorry if I … if that came off as unkind, I …” I didn’t even know what words I could say to make him feel better. So, I did something I couldn’t remember doing—not in any meaningful way—since the day of Mum and Dad’s funeral.

I scooted across that space between us—the one that felt like a gaping chasm, when in reality it was only a few inches of lounge—and I hugged him.

Properly hugged him. Wrapped him up as tight as I could in arms that were too short to fully reach around his muscular frame, and I rested my head against his shoulder. I didn’t speak, just held him.

“I never cried in front of you, Jem. But sometimes, I sobbed into my pillow. Those first few months after … when I was trying to transfer to a uni closer to you, and I was trying to hold down two jobs, so I didn’t burn through Mum and Dad’s insurance money too fast. Trying to make sure you had counselling, had someone to talk to about what had happened. I had no choice. I had to keep it together for my little sister, who’d just lost her whole world.”

“Joe, I …” Words failed me, but my tear ducts did not. My sadness for him … for us … trickled down my cheeks and into his shirt.

“I had to be strong for you. The thought of letting you see me falling apart when you needed me so much … I pushed you because I knew that Mum and Dad had such high hopes for you, and I felt like anything less would have let them down. I was a mess, Jem. And I made a mess of raising you.”

“You didn’t, you know,” I mumbled against his damp shoulder. “You were a barely eighteen-year-old boy, and you gave up so much. I know it’s hard for you to see me as anything but that ten-year-old who you had to piece back together when they died, but I’m not that person anymore. You need to let me make decisions. Make mistakes. And if I do … make mistakes, that is … it’s not because you failed me. Besides,” I gave a watery chortle, “I think I’ve turned out pretty great, actually.”

He huffed out a half-laugh, half-sob. “You are great. I … I should have acknowledged that so many times over the last eighteen years. I just … I spent so much time worrying that you wouldn’t be able to be independent that I was blinded to the fact that you are. You’re living your life the way you want to, and … well, that’s what Mum and Dad would have wanted.”

He shifted, wrapping an arm around me and squeezing me gently. To the shock of both of us, Luci climbed up onto his lap and curled up in a ball, promptly falling asleep.