I left home at eighteen with big dreams and bigger pride.
I wanted more than our small town.
More than hospital visits and whispered prayers.
My twin sister stayed behind to care for our sick mom.
She asked me to come visit sometimes.
I always had an excuse.
“I’m busy becoming someone,” I told her once.
“Not empty like you.”
Two years later, my mom passed away.
I rushed home — too late to say goodbye.
At the funeral, I finally saw my sister again.
She looked older.
Exhausted.
Hollow in ways I didn’t understand.
But there was something else too.
Strength.
While I was chasing success, she was holding a dying hand.
While I was building a future, she was carrying a family.
In that moment, the truth hit me harder than grief.
I didn’t become someone.
She did.
And I will live with that realization for the rest of my life.
