I read Sophie's message again.
Then I checked the name at the top of the screen.
It was her number.
I hadn't accidentally opened another conversation.
“Dad just told me you needed them,” I wrote.
“He said they already had dinner plans with you.”
Three dots appeared.
They vanished.
Then Sophie's next message arrived.
“Rachel, I haven't seen Mom or Dad in almost two weeks.”
She added that she'd asked Mom to have lunch that weekend.
Mom had told her she was busy.
I looked at Ava.
She was awake now, making small puzzled noises.
I had the strange sensation that the room had moved an inch without me.
“Are you okay?” Sophie wrote.
“I have seven stitches. Ava's fine.”
“What happened?”
I told her about the broken frame and the stairs.
She responded almost immediately.
“I'm coming.”
I stared at those two words.
“You don't have to. Ethan is on his way.”
“Send me the hospital and room number.”
I told her the emergency department entrance would be easier.
“I'll be there in thirty minutes,” she said.
Then she called.
Her voice sounded breathless.
“Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
“Did somebody check?”
“Yes. They asked all those questions.”
“Is Ava hungry?”
“Probably soon.”
“Do you have formula?”
“I have what she needs. Sophie, are you sure?”
“I'm putting on shoes.”
I heard a cupboard door close.
Then she said something quieter.
“Why didn't you call me first?”
I watched a nurse pass through the hallway.
“Mom said you were buried in work.”
“I'm not working tonight.”
“She said you didn't like being around babies.”
Sophie was silent long enough for me to wonder whether the call had dropped.
“Who told her that?”
“She said you did.”
“I bought Ava a blanket, Rachel.”
My throat tightened.
“I never got a blanket.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean?”
Sophie exhaled sharply.
“I took it to Mom's house because she said she'd bring it by when she visited you.”
I closed my eyes.
Mom had arrived at my apartment three days after the birth.
She stayed twenty minutes.
She brought a supermarket casserole and told me I looked tired.
She hadn't mentioned any blanket.
Sophie said she would be there shortly and ended the call.
I sat looking at the empty screen.
Elena came over with the medication instructions.
I asked her to repeat the wound-care directions.
This time I wrote them down.
After years in a family that called me capable, I had learned to hide when I was overwhelmed.
But I could still understand which symptoms required medical attention.
I could still follow instructions.
I could ask questions.
I could protect my daughter.
I texted Ethan.
“Sophie is coming to help. Please drive safely. We're okay.”
He called at the next stoplight.
“Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“I thought she couldn't stand babies.”
“Apparently neither of us knows what she thinks.”
He asked if I was in pain.
I admitted that I was.
He told me where the car was and said he'd be careful.
Then he added, “You did the right thing calling someone.”
When Sophie arrived, I didn't recognize her at first.
She wore black work pants and an old college sweatshirt.
Her hair was twisted into a clip.
She carried a reusable grocery bag in one hand.
She stopped three feet from my chair.
“Oh, Rachel.”
I lifted my good hand.
“It's not as bad as it looks.”
“That's something Dad would say.”
Neither of us laughed.
She crouched beside Ava.
“Hello, beautiful girl.”
Ava blinked at her.
Sophie's mouth trembled.
“She's so little.”
“Four weeks.”
“I know.”
She looked up.
“I've been counting.”
I suddenly wanted to apologize for every curt message I'd sent her since the baby was born.
But the nurse arrived with a final form.
Sophie sat beside me while I signed.
She read the discharge instructions without taking them away from me.
Then she asked Elena how to help without putting pressure on my left arm.
No one told me what I should have done differently.
No one called me dramatic.
Sophie fetched the diaper bag and secured Ava in her carrier.
A staff member helped us to the discharge area.
Sophie made sure the car seat was properly installed in her car before we left.
She didn't pretend to be an expert.
She checked the instructions and asked me to confirm the fit.
The drive home was quiet at first.
Rain shone on the windshield.
I watched the streetlights pass.
Finally I asked her why she hadn't come to meet Ava.
Sophie gripped the steering wheel.
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The Saturday after you came home.”
I remembered that day.
Mom had told me Sophie wanted us to have space.
“She said you weren't having visitors,” Sophie continued.
“Who said that?”
“Mom.”
I stared out the window.
“I was having visitors.”
“I know that now.”
Sophie looked at me briefly.
“I thought you didn't want me.”
“Why would I not want you?”
“She said you were upset that I hadn't helped more during the pregnancy.”
I shook my head.
“I never said anything like that.”
“She told me you needed quiet, and that I should respect it.”
We stopped at a light.
Sophie looked straight ahead.
“For years I've thought you were angry with me.”
“For years I've thought you didn't care.”
The light turned green.
Neither of us spoke until we reached my building.
She parked near the entrance and carried the seat upstairs one careful step at a time.
I unlocked the apartment.
The broken picture frame was still on the kitchen counter.
There was dried blood on the floor near the stairs.
Sophie took one look and set her bag down.
“We'll deal with that after Ava's settled.”
There was nothing theatrical about the way she said it.
It was an ordinary sentence.
I hadn't realized how much I needed one.
She laid a clean blanket on the sofa and helped me arrange feeding supplies within reach.
Then she pulled something from her grocery bag.
A pale green baby blanket with tiny embroidered stars.
“I bought another one,” she said.
“What happened to the first?”
“That's what I'm going to ask Mom.”
During the drive Sophie asked whether I still liked the cinnamon tea we used to drink at Grandma's house.
I hadn't thought about that tea in years.
Grandma kept a tin beside her stove.
She always added too much sugar.
We would sit at her small round table and listen to the rain on the porch roof.
Sophie used to stir her cup until the spoon clinked against the rim.
I used to complain.
She did it louder to annoy me.
Remembering that made the drive feel less strange.
“Do you still make it?” I asked.
“Sometimes. When work gets awful.”
She glanced at me.
“I almost called you in August.”
“What happened?”
“My manager got sick. I had to cover three people's schedules.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Mom said you were having a difficult pregnancy and didn't want stress.”
I considered that.
My pregnancy had been tiring.
But talking to my sister about work would not have harmed me.
“I would have listened,” I said.
“I know that now.”
We stopped at a gas station so Sophie could buy water.
Before getting out, she asked whether Ava was comfortable and whether I needed anything.
I told her we were fine.
She returned with the water, a banana, and a little packet of crackers.
“For you,” she said.
“You haven't eaten.”
I opened the crackers with my right hand.
The packaging resisted.
Sophie offered to help, but waited until I nodded.
It was such a minor thing.
Yet I noticed that she asked instead of snatching it away.
At our building, we found the elevator out of service.
I stared at the sign, exhausted.
Our apartment was only one floor above the entrance.
Usually I would have carried everything myself without thinking.
Sophie asked me to hold the handrail and walk ahead slowly.
She took the carrier using its proper handle.
Then she returned for the bag.
She didn't complain about the extra trip.
When we finally reached the door, I apologized for the trouble.
“Rachel,” she said, looking directly at me.
“You don't owe me an apology because your building has stairs.”
I laughed weakly.
She looked serious.
“I mean it.”
I unlocked the door.
Inside, she found the light switch without asking.
She remembered where it was from the last time she had visited, years earlier.
That made me sad in a way I couldn't quite explain.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: My Sister Found the Missing Gift and Asked Why Our Mother Kept Us Apart
The Seven Stitches, My Sleeping Daughter, and the Answer I Never Expected From Dad
Part 2 of 16
