the final paragraph.
I promised Mom I’d be here for your eighteenth birthday.
I guess I found a way.
Not in the way I wanted.
But in every story she tells you.
In every picture.
In every stubborn thing you do that makes her laugh.
In every time you choose kindness when you could choose anger.
That’s where I’ll be.
Happy birthday, little sister.
You made my life matter.
Now go make yours matter too.
Love, Ethan.
Clara cried.
So did I.
Daniel turned away and wiped his eyes.
For thirteen years, I had thought Ethan’s final act was giving his life so his sister could live.
I finally understood that it wasn’t.
His final act was giving her a future.
And now that future belonged entirely to her.
That evening, Clara asked me to drive somewhere.
We went to the hospital.
The same hospital where Ethan had died thirteen
