Cassandra, four years my junior, was the family’s “wild child.” My parents constantly bailed her out, fostering a lifelong competition between us. Adam always urged me to maintain our relationship: “She is your only sister. Family is important.”
Two years ago, Cassandra started dating Tyler, a bartender. Their relationship was volatile. Then, at Thanksgiving, she announced her pregnancy. I felt a pang of jealousy – after all our struggles, she had effortlessly achieved what we desperately wanted. But I pushed it down, determined to be the best aunt.
Lucas was born healthy. I often stepped in to help Cassandra, who seemed overwhelmed by motherhood. Adam was less involved, a distance I attributed to our own infertility struggles.
Then came that terrible Tuesday. Adam, 36, left for work with a headache, insisting it was “just a migraine.” He never called after his meeting. By the time I reached the hospital, he was gone, a brain aneurysm.
The following days were a blur of grief. Cassandra was strangely absent. When she did appear at the funeral, she left quickly. I was too numb to notice.