I left home
At 18. My twin sister stayed behind to care for our sick mother.
I had good grades and big dreams, and I was determined to make it happen Become a journalist and leave our miserable life behind.
My sister called me often, asking me to visit her, but I always said: “I’m busy becoming someone! I’m not as empty as you!”
At first, everything went my way. College was exciting, and I landed an internship at a major newspaper and the campus newspaper. My articles were published and attracted interest. It felt unstoppable.
Two years passed, and… My mother died. She arrived late and I couldn’t say goodbye.
But I froze when I saw my sister. She looked paler and more fragile and thinner than I remembered. She has changed so much that she no longer looks like my twin. I expected anger, and I deserved it, but instead, She ran to me and hugged me.
Then she asked me to go to my mother’s room and check under her bed.
I did. She was hiding carefully All my articles In her favorite velvet box, neatly folded and chronologically arranged, as if they were precious jewels she feared losing.
Papers were read and re-read, notes marked, sections underlined, and Even drawing hearts on them.
My sister said “You couldn’t be near your mother, but your words were—and they made her happy.”
She broke down in tears. She hugged me and whispered “We’ll be fine.”
But at that moment, all I wished for was to go back in time.
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