Across the front, Nora had written:
**READ THIS OUT LOUD.**
Leila laughed through her tears.
“Still bossy.”
“She was older,” I replied.
“By seven whole minutes.”
For the first time in years, the joke made us smile.
The letter began playfully, imagining our adult lives and teasing us exactly the way Nora always had.
Then the message became serious.
“Please don’t let me become the space between you.
I’m afraid that after I’m gone, you’ll only see what’s missing when you look at each other.
But you’re not the sisters who stayed behind.
You’re Gia and Leila.
You’re my favorite people.”
Tears blurred every word.
She asked us to keep celebrating birthdays.
To laugh.
To argue about silly things.
To live fully.
And then she gave us one final tradition.
“Every birthday, save me one slice of cake.
Then tell each other one good thing that happened that year.
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