I remembered when Ryan was born and I was three, the first time I saw him in the hospital. Everyone told me I was an older sister now, that I had responsibilities, that I had to take care of him.
But Margaret told me,
“It’s alright. Even if you don’t help, I won’t be angry. As long as you and your brother are safe, I don’t care if it costs me my life.”
I cried and promised her,
“I’ll be good. I’ll take care of my brother. Mommy, you have to stay safe.”
At ten, when Daniel and Margaret were taking Ryan to New York City, Margaret squeezed my hand awkwardly that night.
“Mom won’t leave you. It’s just that having two kids is too heavy a burden. Your dad and I can’t earn enough. But don’t worry, I’ll take more jobs—I’ll sweep streets, dig through trash for food—anything, just to take you with us.”
I cried and told them,
“I’ll be fine in the county by myself. Don’t worry about me.”
At fifteen, when I scored first in the entire county and earned the right to attend the best high school in the city, a second-rate private high school offered me a large scholarship. I didn’t want to go, but Margaret knelt in front of me.