Life didn’t feel dramatic.
It felt lived-in.
Messy with grief and trauma.
Ordinary in the way days are when you’re just surviving them.
Thursday 12th June began like so many others early starts, routines, responsibilities pulling us all in different directions. Jane headed off by bus to my grandparents house to clean and sort some paperwork. I had a full day of work ahead. Corey had school. Life moving forward whether we were ready or not.
The heat was relentless. The kind that sits on your skin and drains you quietly, making everything feel heavier than it should. As we drove, I said out loud that my grandad who had been declining for months would probably go quietly in his sleep. Jane had always struggled with death. It frightened her in a way she couldn’t ever explain.
I said my usual prayer as we set off. The one I’d said every morning since Peter had left the house and never come back.
We dropped Corey off, turned the music up loud, and danced all the way to the bus stop. Music was how we survived in good times and in the hardest ones. Life hadn’t been kind lately, but with my sister beside me, I believed we could handle anything.
When she came home that evening, she’d been out for nearly twelve hours. I opened the door and there she was smiling, arms full of bags, dripping with sweat from the walk home. She’d even carried back a clothes rail from my grandma’s, balanced across her back with bags hanging from it. The weight of it all was ridiculous.
She told me she’d had a funny turn getting off the bus. Her vision had gone black. She thought she was going to pass out. She said it had scared her. She repeated it and that’s when I knew she meant it. She said she’d felt vulnerable.
I asked why she hadn’t called me.
She said she was okay.
We blamed the heat. Dehydration. She’d left her water behind. I suggested salty water and a cold shower. We didn’t know not yet that this moment would haunt me forever.
She laid everything out she’d brought home, showing the kids piece by piece. Little things chosen with care. Bits for Corey’s sleepover the next day including the biggest tub of popcorn seeds I had ever seen. Like Peter she didn’t do things by half. A box of air-fryer donuts one for each of the kids. This one made me think of you. This one will make you smile.
She was tired but happy to be moving with purpose. After huffing and puffing with the heat, she wrapped the present for the party and packed the overnight bag. Finally settling after a long.
That morning, she’d got Corey up for school something she cherished deeply. She’d missed so much when he was younger and never took that time for granted. They watched Good Morning Britain together. When I shouted that we needed to leave, he kissed her goodbye like always.
Nothing felt different.
Except everything was.
We realised a few minutes up the road that his PE bag was still at home. She smiled and tossed it to us. I told her to rest. To reset. Not to worry about anything in the house.
Later, I rang her like I always did. She sounded tired. Said she was relaxing with Bailey, who was getting ready to go out later. I decided I wouldn’t go out after all. I knew she’d been pushing herself too hard that week trying to meet expectations, especially her own.
A few days earlier, she’d told me she wanted to take the kids on holiday. Something she’d dreamed of for years. She’d started looking after herself again a manicure, baby pink nails done lovingly by Bailey, freshly shaped brows. She sent me a photo and said she felt good. She talked about dressing smarter, about feeling worthy.
It felt like hope.
Like something was finally shifting for her.
That evening, when the house quietened and there was nothing demanding our attention, she cooked burgers from scratch. We had no rolls, so she made sandwiches instead cutting mine into a perfect circle because she thought I’d judge a “hamburger sandwich.” It was ridiculous.
She laughed about my fizzy-drink stash in the car boot. Asked for the keys. Came back with lemon and orange Fanta anyway. Rules were optional especially mine.
I showered, torn between going out and knowing I needed to be home. All I really wanted was Netflix and my itchy blanket. To exist.
We didn’t eat together, but we didn’t need to. We were there. Sharing space. Both needing a reset.
I told her again to slow down. That she’d been doing too much. She didn’t like it one bit. It irritated her.
I fell asleep early. Later, I moved rooms for a proper duvet. I checked on her to tell her Corey was having fun. She smiled relieved, happy for him. She apologised for shouting earlier and we agreed there was a lot going on.
“It’s boiling,” I said. “Do you want the fan on?”
She smiled. Said she was climatising.
Just before midnight, thunder cracked across the sky. Lightning lit the rooms. Rain poured through open windows. The house felt alive. Electric. I went to tell her it was finally cooling down.
She was watching TV. Like always.
“Yep,” she smiled.
At 1:50am, she woke me.
“Cass, quick. The cat’s got a mouse in Corey’s room.”
I didn’t believe her. Until I saw it.
We shut the door. Tried to catch it. Laughed at how stupid we must have looked in that moment. I got bitten as I tried to catch it with a top. She shrugged and said, “Fuck it shut the door. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”
Still laughing, we went back to bed.
Moments later, she appeared with a plaster.
“Here, sis. We might need A&E for a jab.”
I smiled.
“Thank you. Love you.”
She went back to her room next door.