Red drenches through the white cotton as the gash on my finger bleeds. Salty drops of tear brim my eyelids as an “I love you” passes through my lips. It is followed by nothing but silence, the drops begin to cascade down my face.

The night started out full of laughter and giddiness as this was the first time we had seen each other in months, but it was also Christmas. We sat in the apartment opening gifts. I received none, but watching my brother’s four-year-old face light up as he tore paper away to find out the surprise inside was present enough. I watched his face realizing we have the same blue eyes, the same shape head, the same nose, same hair color even.
It’s uncanny considering most say I look like my grandma and mom who are not Caden’s family. Yes he is my half-brother, but I’ve never been one to like that term. It sounds as if just because he is only my dad’s son and not my mom’s, he isn’t worthy of just brother. Just because we only share half of our genes I only love him half as much. The truth is, I love him more than I can express in words. I would give an arm for that little boy.
As soon as I saw him lying in the NICU, smaller than any living human I’d seen before, I whispered “I love you” and vowed to the 3lb, 3oz tiny boy before me that I would always be there for him. I’d protect him, love him, and be the best big sister I could be.
“Sister Brooke, you open this.” Caden broke me out of my thoughts’ handing me a toy still in its child proof plastic wrap. I laughed as I took it. He always puts “Sister” in front of my name as if there is another Brooke and he needs to clarify it’s this Brooke who is his sister. I grabbed my brand new silver pocket knife from my pocket and began to cut through the plastic. The knife got stuck, so I started reefing it to the side with force. Thus once it did cut through, my thumb lay in perfect alignment with the knife’ causing it to mangle through layers of my pale fragile skin.
I let out a small “um, dad…” as I watched blood spurt out. My dad acted quickly, rushing for a wash cloth to stop the bleeding. He pulled me into the bathroom, muttering thins like you have to be more careful. Caden stood stretching his neck to try and see.
“Does it hurt, Sister Brooke?” Caden questioned his blue eyes open wide and the corner of his mouth rising upward.
“Not much.” I answered, smiling back at him surprised myself that such a large bloody wound felt like nothing.
As soon as my finger was wrapped in gauze with band aids holding the cotton in place, we went back to life as usual, playing with our new toys in the living room. I was building a Lego set that Caden had received when he attacked me from the back, yelling out a war cry to begin the paly fight. I hollered out as well, exaggerating a fall to the floor. He continued to belly flop on my stomach, causing me to huff out, but I successfully seized him in my arms before he could get away, mauling him into a hug. He escaped holding his hands up in fists, readying himself in a fighting stance.
I went to do the same and realized my thumb was bleeding through the makeshift bandage. “Uh oh, I don’t think I can wrestle anymore. Sorry, buddy… I love you.”
When he didn’t respond I sat down next to him on the floor and looked him directly in the eyes, which thoroughly mirrored my own and said it again, making sure he heard me. “Caden, I love you.”
He said nothing and just stared at me. I was immediately hurt by this as I heard him tell dad all the time that he loves him, so this wasn’t a new concept or anything.
“Well, do you love me too?” I asked, and he nodded. “Well, then why don’t you say it?”
“I can’t.” He answered me. I was instantly confused.
“Well, why not?”
“You leave.” He replied with a melancholy look on his face. This did not confuse me. I understood right away what he meant. About a year after Caden was born, I moved with my mom an hour and a half or so away from Caden and dad. All he can remember is seeing me at holidays and random weekends here and there. Then, in the blink of an eye, I am gone again to somewhere he doesn’t even know. I worried about this before. Because I was far away and didn’t live with him, he wouldn’t know how much I love him’ and I wouldn’t be able to protect him.
I looked down to my finger, the blood seeping out. Tears began to fall. I don’t like to cry, but I couldn’t stop myself. My little brother couldn’t tell me he loved me, and it broke my heart. I went to sit behind a chair, hoping no one would see my cry.
As I heaved, trying to breath, my dad found me and asked what was wrong. I remembered my finger and used it as an excuse, saying it had just now started to throb. He pulled me into a hug, telling me the pain would subside, but I knew it wouldn’t. I knew it would always hurt me to tell one of the most important people in this world to me I love you and it only ever be followed by silence.
It’s now two years later. Caden no longer has to stretch his neck to see things, “Sister” no longer always starts my name, but my “I love you’s” are no longer followed by silence. This Christmas I was there, and it was the end of my three days with them. As I finished packing up my bags, Caden leapt from the couch where he sat, and out of nowhere, hugged me. I hugged him back and said “I love you”.
“I love you, too,” Caden answered.
I looked down at the scar on my thumb from two Christmases ago and realized it wasn’t a memory of how he didn’t love me but how much he truly does.