A Brother’s Promise
Six months ago, I was just a 25‑year‑old structural engineer with a life that made sense. I had a wedding to plan, a honeymoon to pay off, and a fiancée who already had a list of baby names taped to our fridge.
Sure, I had stress — deadlines, bills, and a mother who texted me like she got paid per message. Every morning she’d call with advice.
“James, you work too much,” she’d say.
“I’m proud of you, but you need to take care of yourself. Supplements! Good food! It’s non‑negotiable.”
I’d laugh, shake my head, and keep going. Everything in my life was predictable… right until everything fell apart.
My mom, Naomi, died in a car accident on the way to buy birthday candles for my little sisters, Lily and Maya — my ten‑year‑old twin sisters who still thought glitter was a food group and bedtime stories were a requirement of the universe.
After that, nothing in my life looked the same.
The wedding planner kept emailing me.
The save‑the‑dates sat unprinted.
Even our fancy espresso machine registry got canceled.
Because suddenly, I wasn’t the oldest child. I was the only parent.
My sisters clung to me at the funeral like I was the last tree in a storm. They hardly spoke above a whisper.
“James… can you sign our permission slips now?” Lily asked with red, swollen eyes.
Dad was never an option. He’d disappeared when Mom told him she was pregnant with the twins, and we hadn’t heard from him since. So now, it was just us.
That same night, I moved back into Mom’s house — leaving behind my quiet apartment, my coffee grinder, and the life I thought I was building.
I tried my best. But Jenna… she made everything look effortless.
She moved in two weeks after the funeral, insisting:
“I want to help, James. Let me be here for the girls.”
And she meant it — or at least, that’s what I believed.
She packed lunches with handwritten notes.
She braided the twins’ hair before school.
She even found lullabies on Pinterest and sang them every night.
When Maya wrote Jenna’s number as her emergency contact in glitter pen, Jenna cried and whispered:
“I finally have the little sisters I always dreamed of.”
I thought she was a blessing.
I thought she was an angel.
I thought I hit the jackpot.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
The Day Everything Changed
Last Tuesday, I came home early from a site inspection. Heavy clouds hung low in the sky, the kind of weather that always reminded me of hospital waiting rooms and bad news.
The house looked peaceful. Maya’s bike was on the lawn, Lily’s gardening gloves on the porch rail. I unlocked the door quietly.
Inside smelled like cinnamon buns and craft glue — the perfect picture of a home.
Then I heard Jenna’s voice in the kitchen.
But this wasn’t her usual gentle tone. It was sharp. Cold. Like it had edges.
“Girls, you’re not staying here for long. So don’t get too comfortable.”
I froze.
“James is trying, but come on… I am NOT wasting the last good years of my twenties raising someone else’s kids.”
My heart slammed into my ribs.
Then Maya made a sound — small, choked.
“Don’t cry, Maya,” Jenna snapped.
“If you cry again, I’ll throw away your notebooks. You need to grow up before writing those silly stories in them.”
“But we don’t want to leave,” Maya whispered.
“James is the best brother in the world.”
I felt something inside me twist painfully.
Jenna scoffed.
“You don’t get to want anything. Now go do your homework. And don’t expect to be bridesmaids at the wedding.”
I heard them run upstairs, their door slamming shut.
Then Jenna’s voice changed — suddenly bright, sweet, fake. She was on the phone.
“Karen, they’re gone. You don’t understand, I’m exhausted. I have to play perfect mom all day.”
She laughed — a light laugh I hadn’t heard in weeks.
“He’s dragging his feet about the wedding because of the girls. But once he adopts them, they’re HIS problem, not mine. I need them gone. And the house? The insurance money? All that should be for us.”
My vision blurred with rage.
“I’ll make their lives miserable until he gives in,” she said casually.
“Then he’ll think it was his idea.”
I stumbled back out the front door and sat in my car, staring at my reflection in the mirror — pale, furious, devastated.
Everything she’d done… every braid, every lunchbox note… all of it was a lie.
She didn’t see two hurting children.
She saw obstacles.
I thought of Lily whispering to her marigold seeds.
I thought of Maya’s journals stacked in perfect order.
I thought of two girls who had lost too much already.
And I realized:
I’d been sleeping next to a monster.
The Plan
I drove around, bought pizza for the girls, and came home pretending everything was normal.
“Hey, honey! I’m home!”
Jenna kissed me sweetly, smelling like coconut… and pure poison.
That night, I sat beside her on the couch and said:
“Jenna… maybe you were right.”
She blinked.
“About what?”
“About the girls. Maybe I can’t do this. Maybe… maybe we should let them go.”
Her eyes lit up like fireworks.
“Sweetheart, that’s the mature choice. It’s best for all of us.”
I swallowed my disgust.
“And maybe we shouldn’t wait on our wedding. Losing Mom made me realize we don’t have time to waste.”
“Are you SERIOUS?!” she shrieked.
“Yes. Let’s get married.”
She screamed with joy, nearly tackled me, and spent the next morning calling florists before breakfast.
Meanwhile, I made my own calls.
I had a plan — and it was airtight.
The Wedding Reveal
The hotel ballroom sparkled. Floating candles. Lace tablecloths. Over-the-top elegance — everything Jenna loved.
She floated around greeting guests, radiant in her white lace gown. She even pretended to care about the girls:
“You look perfect,” she told them, fake smile and all.
The twins clung to me nervously. Maya held her glitter pen. Lily held a bouquet of wildflowers she picked outside the hotel.
When Jenna tapped her glass and lifted the mic, she beamed:
“Thank you all for coming! Tonight, we celebrate love, family, and—”
I stepped forward and touched her shoulder.
“Actually, babe… I’ll take it from here.”
She hesitated… but handed me the mic.
I pulled a small black remote from my jacket.
“Everyone, tonight isn’t just a wedding. It’s a truth.”
The projector behind us flicked on.
CAMERA 3 – KITCHEN – TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Audio clear as day.
“The insurance money should be for US. And I don’t care what happens to those girls. I’ll make their lives miserable until James gives in.”
Gasps. A glass shattered.
Jenna’s face went white.
I clicked again.
“Don’t cry, Maya. Cry again and I’ll throw your notebooks away.”
More gasps. People turned and stared at Jenna like she was a stranger.
She panicked.
“James! This is out of context! It’s edited!”
“No,” I said calmly. “My mom had nanny cams… and you showed the world who you are.”
“You can’t do this to me!”
“You did it to yourself.”
Security escorted her out screaming:
“James, you’re RUINING my LIFE!”
“You tried to ruin theirs,” I replied.
Aftermath
Word spread fast.
Jenna tried to defend herself with emotional videos online, but nobody believed her.
Three nights later, she showed up at our house barefoot, mascara smeared, screaming my name.
I didn’t open the door.
I didn’t say a word.
I waited for the police.
And the next morning, I filed a restraining order.
Because my sisters come first.
Always.
A New Beginning
One week later, we stood in a judge’s office. When the adoption paperwork was finalized, Maya cried — soft, quiet tears that slipped down her cheeks.
Lily hugged her and whispered:
“We won’t be separated now.”
I didn’t know they were scared of that. The thought almost crushed me.
That night, we cooked spaghetti together. Lily stirred the sauce. Maya danced with the parmesan shaker like it was a microphone. The kitchen felt warm again.
After dinner, Maya tapped my wrist.
“Can we light a candle for Mommy?”
“Of course,” I said.
Lily lit the candle and whispered something into the flame.
Then she leaned against my arm.
“We knew you’d choose us.”
My throat closed. I couldn’t speak. I just let the tears fall.
The girls didn’t pull away. Lily rested her head against my shoulder. Maya grabbed my hand.
We sat there on either side of me — their small hands anchoring me, grounding me, reminding me why everything I lost didn’t matter compared to everything I saved.
We were safe.
We were real.
We were home.