The woolen throw on the couch tugged awkwardly beneath my back. For the third time, I adjusted it just so and tried to refocus on my book, but my thoughts kept drifting to the stifled sobs drifting from Katy’s room. I set the novel aside and padded toward her door.
“Hello? Katy? Still awake? Want some tea?”
No answer. I knocked softly and cracked the door. She lay on her side, facing the wall, her shoulders trembling with muffled gasps.
“For God’s sake, stop crying,” I said, perching on the edge of her bed and rubbing her spine. “You’ll feel no better if you keep it in.”
“They’re yours,” she muttered, not turning. “Keep your tea. I’ll mend it.”
Typical Katy. Always insisting she could handle it alone. God knows how many times I’d stepped in to fix her messes. My sister had always been an overachiever drowning in her own competence.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I said, pulling the duvet from her huddled form. “Or will you go another three days pretending nothing’s wrong?”
She inhaled sharply and sat up, curling her knees to her chest. Her eyes were puffy, her face pale.
“He… he said he was tired.” Her voice wavered. “Can you believe it? *Tired*. I work every day, cook, clean, do the bloody laundry… and he’s exhausted? He said he needed space—*from me*—and left for his mum’s.”
I snorted. Kevin had always struck me as a man in a man’s body, all babyish curls and that damn dimple.
“Let him go,” I said, tugging her up. “Here, tea. Lemon and honey, like you like it.”
The kitchen was cool, the kettle whistling as I fetched two mugs. Mine was chipped and blue, hers pink with a heart that read “Dreams Come True.” I’d teased her about it once, but she’d pouted, so the jabs stopped.
“He’s got a birthday in two days,” she said, flicking a loose strand from her ear. “I bought him a gift. An expensive one.”
“Hand it to his mother, then,” I said. “Let her coddle him.”
“You make it sound easy,” she said quietly. “You’ve never had a husband.”
The words stung, but I shrugged it off, slicing lemons into the mugs.
“And what’s the use of Kevin? He complains, he spends. When was the last time he gave you flowers?”
She blinked, tears brimming again.
“He’s a good man,” she whispered. “Just… struggling.”
“Struggling how? Does he have two kids? A mortgage? Elderly parents to care for? No. He’s a bloody coward, Katy. Every time it gets hard, he runs to his mother. You deserve better.”
“He promised to change,” she said.
“All of them promise that,” I said, handing her the tea. “Remember Gran’s words: *‘Men are like the weather—complain all you like, but it’ll turn bloody wet before it clears.’”*
She managed a small smile. “He’s all I’ve got.”
“Love’s fine, but *living*?” I stared into my mug. “You shoulder everything. Pay more, do all the work. What does he give you except problems?”
She said nothing, warming her hands on the cup. The rain began to patter against the window.
“I’m not made of steel,” she said at last, eyes down. “Sometimes, I just want… someone to hold me and say it’ll be okay, even if it’s not.”
I exhaled. Never understood her need for that. I fixed problems. I didn’t cry over them.
“Katy, you’re strong,” I said. “Look at what you’ve overcome—remember when they told you you’d fail exams? You aced them. Remember your first job interview? Now you’re the lead. Why cling to a man who flees from trouble?”
“Because… he’s good inside,” she said, hesitating. “I know he is.”
“Inside, everyone’s good,” I scoffed.
Her phone buzzed. She flinched, reading the message.
“He’s asking if he should bring anything from the shop,” she said, wiping her tears.
“He bolted three hours ago and now texts about the shop?” I rolled my eyes. “Answer him?”
“Of course,” she typed. “He’s to bring milk and bread.”
Again the cycle.
By evening, Kevin returned, lugging bags. Milk, bread, fruit, juice, biscuits, and a bunch of wildflowers.
“Here,” he said to Katy, handing over the bouquet. “Saw an old lady selling them. Simple, but pretty. Like you.”
Katy’s face lit up. I groaned internally.
“Evening, Tom,” he nodded at me. “Staying long?”
“Just a week,” I said, keeping my tone flat. “Checking on my sister. Then back to my ant nest.”
“Great,” he said, smiling warily. “Katy, I grabbed your favorite cake. Want some?”
She beamed. “Yes.” Then to me, “Join us?”
“Nah,” I said. “Back to my book.”
Later, as I read in the sitting room, I caught Katy’s laughter through the kitchen. Kevin was recounting something, animated, charming. Their voices wove into the rain’s rhythm. Children, the pair of them.
The next morning, Katy left for work, leaving breakfast: fried eggs, tomatoes, and coffee in a flask. I lingered with my tea when Kevin wandered in.
“Morning,” he said, rummaging in the fridge. “Mind if I join?”
“Help yourself,” I said.
He spooned muesli into yogurt and sat across from me.
“You know I bailed on her last night?” he said.
“Didn’t you?”
“Did. I’m an arsehole,” he said, scraping his spoon. “You think I’m a wimp…”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you think it,” he said, smiling sadly. “And maybe you’re right. Katy’s so strong, so certain. Sometimes I feel like a shadow next to her. Like she doesn’t even *see* me.”
I watched him. There was truth in his eyes.
“She loves you,” I said after a pause.
“I’m not sure why,” he said. “You?”
“Not a clue,” I lied.
We sat in silence. When Katy came home that evening, she burst in with a glow.
“I’ve been promoted, Tom!” she declared. “I’m leading the team now!”
“Brilliant,” I said, hugging her. “Always knew you’d make it.”
“Where’s Kevin?” she asked. “He didn’t answer.”
“Out,” I said. “Didn’t say where.”
Her smile dimmed, but she shrugged it off.
“She’s thinking about you,” I said, watching her hang her coat.
“Takes a toll,” she said. “Him at work… I hate reminding him.”
“It’s his job to be happy for you,” I said.
“But men want to feel…” She trailed off. “Never mind.”
The kitchen was warm as Katy made salad and I peeled potatoes. Kevin returned with a box wrapped in a ribbon.
“Hi,” he said, kissing Katy. “How’s work?”
“Great!” she said, choosing to say nothing.
“Found this,” he said, handing her the box.
Inside: a leather journal, the first page inscribed: *To my strongest, most lovely, most brilliant wife. I’m proud of you. Kevin.*
Katy’s eyes watered. She hugged him.
“I thought you’d be upset,” she whispered.
“Upset? Why?” he said, stroking her hair. “I always knew you were brilliant. Happy to see the world realizes it too.”
I backed away. Something had shifted.
“Time to work,” I said. “You two catch up.”
Later, as I tidied the flat, I overheard Kevin whisper:
“Katy, I’m thinking of taking photography classes. Always wanted to learn…”
“Wonderful idea!” she said. “You’re good at it.”
I left quietly, smiling. Maybe I’d been wrong about him.
The next day, Katy seemed uncharacteristically pensive over breakfast.
“Tom?” she asked. “Ever wonder if being strong pushes people away?”
“I do what I can.”
“It’s not about that,” she said. “You’re so certain… maybe men find it intimidating?”
“I intimidate him,” I said. “He’s the one who ran off.”
“It’s not about fear,” she said. “Kevin admitted he feels… smaller with you. Like you’re too much. Maybe you’ve been alone because men don’t know how to fill the gaps?”
I paused. “You want me to pretend to be weak?”
“No. Just… let others be strong too.”
The words sat heavy. How often had I refused help, done more so as not to look vulnerable?
“Good talking,” I said.
She squeezed my hand.
“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
After work, Katy and I prepped a dinner party for her boss and Kevin’s friends.
“You’re doing well,” I said, chopping onions. “He’s trying.”
“He’ll learn,” she said. “He wants to be a team. Not just her strong, or him weak. Together.”
“Wise man,” I said.
He thanked me, awkwardly. For helping him see. “It was about… letting others carry their share.”
Later, on the balcony, Kevin joined me.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said.
“Not at all,” I offered a seat.
We sat, the stars speckling the sky.
“You always made me feel… incomplete,” he said. “Now I see, your strength isn’t something to fear. It’s something to learn from.”
I sipped my tea. “And I’ve been jealous of you.”
“Jealous?”
“Of your love, your openness. The way you look at her when you think no one sees it.”
He blushed. “It’s… not complicated. I just love her.”
“That’s the point,” I said. “Loving someone means being your full self, even when it’s weak.”
Inside, Katy was packing my things.
“You don’t need to do that,” I said.
“Even strong sisters need help,” she said. “You’ve softened.”
“And you’re stronger now,” I said. “Learned something?”
“Maybe,” she said. “You’ll meet someone who doesn’t fear your strength. One who mirrors it.”
I smiled. “Maybe I was just not letting them in.”
At the station, Kevin dropped me off.
“Take care of her,” I said.
“Always,” he said. “And you—you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
The train left, carrying me back to where I belonged. I pulled out my phone, fingers hesitating.
**Andrea.**
“Hello, it’s been ages. How are you?”