“Fine, fine. We're just going through some legal matters concerning Alex and Belle. It's good you're here, because this conversation involves you.”
“Me? What does this have to do with me?”
Dad aligns the papers on the table before meeting my eyes. “Alis, Alex and Belle designated you as Sunny’s guardian if something ever happened to both of them.”
I choke on my coffee, attempting to swallow and gasp simultaneously.
“Guardian? I’m only twenty-one. How can I be responsible for someone else?” Their faces remain inscrutable, revealing no insights into their thoughts.
Mom gently pats my knee. “We’ve deliberated since last night. If you don't feel ready, we’re here to step in and legally care for Sunny.”
“Handle?” I snap. “Why would they even choose me? That’s... it's unexpected.”
Mom’s smile is soft, meant to comfort, but it fails. “Belle left a letter for you in her legal documents. Maybe it’ll provide clarity. You shouldn’t rush any decisions.”
Dad’s gaze is steady on Mom, a silent message passing between them. “It's a lot to process, Alis. Reading the letter might help. While we'd gladly raise Sunny, remember that you were their chosen one. I believe they made that decision with care. It might seem dismissive to their memory not to at least ponder their wish.”
His words strike a chord. “You think I’m up to the task?”
Dad nods. “You're capable of anything. And you won't be alone; we’re here to help. Give it some thought; no need for immediate decisions.”
“Alright.” My voice is soft, eyes fixated on the mug cradled in my hands. Dad slides an envelope labeled “Aurora Borealis” across the desk. My fingers tremble as they touch it, recognizing Belle’s familiar script.
“I, uh, I’m going to read this upstairs.” I stand, gripping theenvelope tighter than necessary in my free hand. I don’t wait for a response. I simply turn and walk toward the study door, still in shock at the thought of becoming Sunny’s guardian.
Why the hell would you leave an infant to a twenty-one year old?!Leave it to Belle, the fun one, to take an already unstable situation and add another plot twist. I rub my forehead as I ascend the stairs and head back to Belle’s bed. I need to be surrounded by her if I’m going to digest her final words to me.
I place my coffee on the vanity and settle on the floor, my back against the bed. "Here goes," I mutter, carefully breaking the seal of the envelope.
Unfolding the handwritten letter, I spot Belle’s signature purple ink — a small detail that brings an unexpected smile.
Aurora,
I hope you’ll never have to read this letter, and if you are reading it I hope you’re in a good place in life. Who am I kidding? You’re always in a good place because you’re Alis — kind, mature, and responsible. Even though you’re my little sister, I’ve always looked up to you. Your passion and commitment to your dreams is inspiring, and I’d like to think Sunny will inherit that same drive from you.
Thinking about dying and assets and guardianship is all incredibly depressing, but I’m glad Alex and I are handling the legal stuff in case something ridiculous happens. We’ve talked through all the different options for who would take care of Sunny in the event she’s left without either of us, and we both agree thatyouare the best person for the job.
I know I should have talked to you about thisfirst, but like I said, I’m hoping this letter never leaves the envelope. I know you hate to be caught off guard, that you thrive on schedules and carefully thought out plans, but I know you can do this because even when everything goes awry you find a way to shine light and beauty into the darkness. You truly are Aurora Borealis — my northern lights. And now I need you to be that for Sunny.
I know she could live with Mom and Dad or even Alex’s parents, but she will find the most joy and adventure with you. You have a special way of loving people, a way that cares for both the person and the soul. I want my daughter to be surrounded by your love every day of her life if she can’t have us.
I know you’re young, but we both know you’re the adult in our relationship. You’re my best friend, my confidant, my encourager, and now I need you to be all those things for my little girl.
I love you, Alis. And I know you’re going to be an incredible Monty for Sunny. (What is a monty? It’s a word I just made up in an attempt to Brangelina the words mom and aunt. Just go with it, k?)
Still hoping you never read this letter, and also hoping I get to rewrite it when you’re thirty and married and probably already have kids of your own. If not, you got this, sis. Trust me.
Your Sunshine, Isabelle
The tears spill over, a steady stream falling onto the paper, blurring Belle's words, smudging the ink.God, I can't even cry without messing things up.I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tears; try to salvage the precious words on the paper.
Belle believed in me so much, saw in me a maturity, a capacity to love and nurture andfortheloveofallthatisholytoparent, that feels almost foreign. And yet, here I am, twenty-one with ambitions stretching far and wide, but with resources so limited, it’s laughable. I’d have to put those dreams on hold, reroute the carefully laid plans I had for myself. Could I do that? Could I be that for Sunny?
A rush of thoughts inundate me, painting pictures of different futures, varying paths — some converging, some diverging drastically. I envision waking up in the early hours to feed Sunny, bidding farewell to her and Mom before embarking on the long drive to campus, coming home after a full day of school to hold her in my arms before she falls asleep.
I could balance school and raising her, couldn't I? Commuting, coordinating with family, living a life interspersed with baby laughter and serious study sessions. I could morph into this person that Belle envisioned, someone steady and nurturing, even in the whirlpool of academics and research projects.
But then another reality dawns on me — the post-master’s phase, the relentless pursuit of a Ph.D., late nights turned into early mornings in the library, a life dictated by an ever-evolving thesis. Could I ask Sunny to adapt to a life like that? Could I give her the time she deserves amid the demanding hours of academia? I wouldn’t be the only guiding figure in her life — we’d have both Mom and Dad — but I’d be her guardian. Her mother figure. Her Monty.
