The weeks that followed passed more quickly than I expected.
Emily and I continued our appointments.
We followed the advice of our doctors.
We finished preparing for the babies.
The nursery in my apartment was small.
I painted one wall a soft cream color.
There was a white crib beside the window.
A little shelf held folded blankets and tiny shoes.
Emily's nursery was larger.
She had chosen pale yellow curtains.
She also had a rocking chair near the crib.
We spent many afternoons moving things around.
Sometimes we disagreed about where to put the furniture.
Sometimes we changed our minds three times.
It was exhausting.
But it was the kind of exhaustion I had dreamed about.
One evening, Emily arrived carrying a large cardboard box.
"What's that?"
"Something I found."
She placed it on the floor.
Inside were baby clothes from our childhood.
Margaret had kept some of them.
There was a small white sweater.
A faded blanket.
And a pair of knitted socks.
I picked up the sweater.
It was tiny.
I imagined Rebecca holding one of us while wearing it.
Emily found a little photograph at the bottom.
It showed Rebecca sitting with two babies in her arms.
She was smiling.
We placed it on the shelf.
I wanted our children to see it every day.
As the pregnancy progressed, we became more careful about our schedules.
There were appointments to remember.
Things to prepare.
And moments when one of us needed help.
Emily was always there when I needed her.
I tried to do the same for her.
We had learned that being family did not mean agreeing about everything.
It meant showing up.
Even when we were tired.
Even when we were frightened.
Even when we didn't know what to say.
Then came the day Emily went into labor.
I was at home when my phone rang.
She was breathing heavily.
"Sarah, I think it's happening."
I stood up so quickly that I knocked a glass off the kitchen counter.
"Are you serious?"
"I think so."
I grabbed my bag.
I called Helen.
Then I drove to the hospital.
Emily was already there when I arrived.
She was holding Helen's hand.
Her face was pale.
But when she saw me, she smiled.
"You made it."
"Of course."
I moved beside her.
The hours that followed were long.
There were nurses.
Doctors.
Instructions.
And moments when Emily squeezed my hand so hard that I thought my fingers might break.
I didn't complain.
She needed me.
Finally, a baby cried.
The sound filled the room.
Emily began crying immediately.
I covered my mouth.
A nurse placed the baby carefully in her arms.
It was a girl.
Small.
Red-faced.
And beautiful.
Emily looked at her.
Then she looked at me.
"She's here."
I nodded.
"She's beautiful."
Emily named her Lily.
I watched my sister hold her daughter for the first time.
And I thought about the two little girls in the photograph.
The ones who had grown up without knowing they were sisters.
Now one of them was a mother.
The other was waiting for her turn.
I kissed Emily's forehead.
"You did it."
She smiled through her tears.
A few weeks later, my own labor began.
I had been at home when the first signs started.
I called Emily.
She answered immediately.
"Sarah?"
"It's time."
She laughed.
"Then we're going to meet your baby."
I went to the hospital with Margaret.
Emily arrived as soon as she could.
She had Lily with Helen at home.
She wanted to be there for me.
The delivery was difficult.
There were moments when I felt exhausted.
But the medical team helped me through it.
Then I heard a cry.
A strong little cry.
I began crying before anyone even placed the baby in my arms.
My son.
He was finally here.
The nurse wrapped him in a soft blanket.
Then she placed him against my chest.
I looked at his tiny face.
His eyes were closed.
His mouth moved slightly.
I touched his cheek.
"Hello, sweetheart."
I named him Noah.
Emily stood beside the bed.
She looked at him.
Then she looked at me.
"We did it."
I laughed.
"We really did."
She reached for my hand.
Lily was waiting at home.
Noah was in my arms.
Our children had arrived.
And for the first time, the family we had imagined for years was no longer just a collection of future plans.
It was real.
The following afternoon, Emily brought Lily to visit.
She was tiny.
Her little hands moved beneath her blanket.
I watched Emily hold her beside my bed.
Then she placed Lily carefully next to Noah for a photograph.
Two babies.
Two little faces.
One family.
I looked at them and started crying.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I was grateful.
The same children whose genetic results had once frightened us were now lying beside each other.
They had their whole lives ahead of them.
We didn't know what those lives would look like.
But we knew they would never have to wonder whether they belonged.
We would tell them the truth.
We would show them Rebecca's photographs.
We would explain their family history when they were old enough.
And we would never make them carry secrets that belonged to adults.
That evening, Margaret visited.
She looked at Noah.
Then she looked at Lily.
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Rebecca would have loved this."
I looked at the photograph on the hospital table.
I thought about the woman who had given birth to us.
Then I looked at my sister.
She was holding her daughter.
I was holding my son.
And we were both smiling.
For a moment, I felt as though the promise we had made as children had finally come true.
Click here to continue reading: PART 20: Years of Secrets Ended With Two Little Babies in Our Arms, and I Finally Understood What Family Was Supposed to Mean
The Promise Two Little Girls Made Twenty-Five Years Ago Was About to Change Both Their Lives Forever
Part 19 of 20
