Chapter 2: The Second Daughter’s Choice

After my older sister died, Mom spent her days and nights worrying, barely eating or sleeping.

She’d pace the creaky hallway, trailing the scent of chamomile tea she never finished, drifting from my sister’s old room to the living room, where Dad would pretend to read the paper, his eyes never leaving her. The TV played low, some rerun of Wheel of Fortune, but nobody guessed the right answers anymore.

Every time I saw her with dark circles under her eyes, looking like she wanted to say something but holding back, I felt frustrated and helpless.

She’d stand in the kitchen doorway, dish towel twisting in her hands, lips pressed together so tight I thought she might break. I’d offer to help with dinner or distract her with stories from Flagstaff, but her mind always circled back to the kids, to the empty space in our lives.

All these years, my older sister was the apple of her and Dad’s eye, while I grew up in Flagstaff with my maternal grandparents.

Dad used to joke that my sister had the sunshine and I got the mountain air. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized what that meant—my place was always a little apart, the second act to her main stage. Still, Grandpa’s old ranch taught me more about grit and self-reliance than any classroom ever could.

Mom already owed me, but after I moved back home, instead of helping me find a decent match, she wanted me to marry my brother-in-law as his second wife.

I’d half-expected awkward coffee dates, maybe even a blind date set up by her bridge club. Instead, she handed me a life’s worth of baggage and expected me to shoulder it with a smile.

Thankfully, she and Dad still had some sense and didn’t say it outright, just sighed around me every day.

The air in the house was thick with unsaid words, long sighs, and the clink of Dad’s coffee spoon as he lingered over a second cup he didn’t want.

I was annoyed and originally planned to write Grandpa, pack my bags, and head back to Flagstaff. I doubted they’d try to stop me.

Grandpa’s mailbox had never closed to me, even after I moved home. I figured I could be on the next Greyhound before anyone noticed my boots were missing from the front step.

But then I caught a glimpse of the silver in Mom’s hair, her sad, tired face, and Dad’s increasingly stooped back. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to be that heartless.

Mom’s hands shook when she poured her morning coffee, and Dad started forgetting the names of his favorite baseball players. I watched them shrink into their grief and realized I couldn’t just leave them to fend for themselves.

Forget it. I’ll just treat it as paying them back for raising me.

Sometimes love is just sticking around when you want to run. I figured I owed them at least that much, for all the years they put up with my stubbornness.

So, I spoke plainly to Mom: "I can marry into the McAllister family, but everything has to go my way."

Her breath hitched, and she clutched my hand so tight I thought she’d never let go.

Mom was so moved she covered her face and cried. "Sweetheart, I knew you still cared about us…"

She always was quick to tears—sometimes I think she cries for things she’s afraid to say out loud. That morning, her sobs echoed down the hall, making even Dad put down his paper and come check on us.

I shot back, "Enough. Let’s get the tough stuff out in the open now so we don’t fight later."

No point dancing around what we both knew. Better to have the arguments now, get the boundaries set, before regret came knocking in the middle of the night.

Mom awkwardly wiped her tears and said, "You’re good in every way, but your temper is just like your grandpa’s…"

She tried to smile, tried to make it a joke, but the way she dabbed at her eyes showed she meant it as a warning, too.

She hurried to add, "If you’re willing to marry into the McAllister family, that’s wonderful. You know your brother-in-law is busy with work and can’t look after the kids. Natalie is only six—without a mother’s guidance, how will she ever find a good future? Caleb is only three—how can he grow up right? If they end up with a stepmom, if your sister knew in heaven… she wouldn’t rest easy…"

Her voice trembled, and she looked out the window, as if my sister might be standing there in the backyard, watching us. The room felt colder for a moment, the air heavy with everything we’d lost.

She started tearing up again.

I sighed, my head throbbing.

Sometimes love and guilt sound so much alike it’s hard to tell the difference. I pressed my palms to my temples, wishing I could borrow a little of Grandpa’s steel.