Gia, you prayed that you could take my place.
Leila, you wished you were the sick one because you thought you were stronger.”
Neither of us had ever told anyone those thoughts.
“You were both wrong,” Nora said gently.
“Nobody should have taken my place.
You have lives to live.
You have to stay for me.”
The tape clicked softly.
Then came her final words.
“I loved you first.
I loved you last.
And I am still your sister.”
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
We simply held each other and cried.
Later that afternoon, we cut three slices of birthday cake.
One for Leila.
One for me.
And one for Nora.
For the first time since losing her, the empty chair no longer felt like a reminder of death.
It felt like a place reserved for love.
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