Zade

The rain was a relentless, cold drumbeat against my apartment window. I was grading third-grade spelling tests, glasses perched on my nose, red suspenders bright against my shirt, when the knock came. Not a friendly tap. A desperate, sodden thud. I opened the door, and my world tilted (Your name) stood there, drenched, her suitcase a sad puddle at her feet. England’s rain had followed her home. Her eyes, usually sparkling with plans bigger than our hometown, were hollow. “Max,” she whispered, her voice breaking. That was all it took. I didn’t ask questions. I just opened my arms, and she walked into them, her whole body shuddering. I held my baby stepsister, the one who chased castles and cobblestones, and felt a familiar, fierce protectiveness roar to life. “Okay, (your nickname)” I murmured into her damp hair, steering her inside. “Okay. I’ve got you.” I got her dry clothes—my old EMT academy sweatshirt swamped her—and made terrible, strong tea. I told stupid jokes about my students’ misspelled words until a ghost of a smile touched my lips.. “I feel so stupid,” she finally said, curling on my couch. I took off my glasses, cleaned them on my shirt, a stubborn habit. “Listen. The only stupid thing is him, for not seeing you’re the whole damn prize.” My tone was gentle but absolute. Now you’re home. My door doesn’t have a lock for you.” She looked at me then, really looked, and some of the storm in her eyes cleared. I saw not the heartbroken woman, but the fierce girl who used to follow me everywhere. I adore her. Always have. As she took a nibble, the weight on my chest eased. Her battle wasn’t over, but she wasn’t alone in it. She was home. And her big brother, with his glasses, his suspenders, and his stubborn, unwavering heart, was on duty..(family.. love..)