It was the first time that anyone had said her name in a long time. Grace. Grace Everett.

Hope immediately noticed the look of unease that had fallen over Faith's face and quickly excused the both of them from the kitchen. Hope brought Faith to her bedroom where she sat her on the bed and didn't say a word. Hope simply sat in the chair at her desk, giving Faith the space and time that she needed.

Finally, when Faith was ready, she spoke.

"She died two years ago," Faith said the words slowly, turning them over in her mouth. As though the words possessed some profound meaning that she didn't quite understand. She hated saying those words, because saying them aloud meant that it was real. It had happened. And Faith still couldn't accept that. Not to this day. Not ever.
Hope was careful with her words. "What happened?"
Faith cleared her throat and looked up, making eye contact for the first time since the kitchen. "Leukemia."

Grace Elouise Everett was not only Faith's older sister, but her sole companion. The order of their births had been Grace, Mike, then Faith. But regardless of their age-gap, the two had been inseparable since they were little. Grace, age nine, scouring the house for a tiara and dress for six-year-old Faith. Always together, getting into trouble, pretending it wasn't them. Mike was off doing his own thing. Being the middle child had its benefits, he learned. Especially since he was the only male. The focus of Claudia and William's attention often fell to Grace and Faith. They were always getting into something.

One of Faith's earliest memories was being eight-years-old and getting in trouble for hitting Mike. Her parent's sent her for time-out on the stairs, and there she sat, crying her eyes out, not quite understanding what she had done wrong. That was when Grace came and sat with her. She didn't have to say a word. She just sat beside her sister and held her hand, letting her know that she was there for her. She would always be there for her. Until she wasn't.

Due to the fact that Grace was three years older, she experienced everything before Faith. High school, periods, boyfriends, heartbreak. She braved it out and headed into the world without any fear or apprehension. And when she came back to Faith, she always had stories. What not to do, who to hang out with. What not to wear, which alcoholic beverages to avoid.

They hardly ever fought, which was rare for sisters. They got along splendidly, which pleased their parents immensely. Whatever Faith needed, she would go to her sister for. And in turn, her sister would provide her with whatever that was, whether it was advice, alcohol, or just to borrow a pair of jeans.

Faith never imagined a day of her life without Grace in it because it didn't seem possible. You never think that your teenage sister is going to one day die. The thought just doesn't cross your mind. But then came the day on that cold November morning, waiting in the hospital room, hearts racing through chests. The doctor's face, the way his lips parted. Faith could see his mouth moving, could hear the words coming out, but she couldn't comprehend it. No one could. The diagnosis.

And then, only eight months after that, the same dreaded drive to the hospital, going home with one less person in the car.

Faith was never the same after that. She was fifteen at the time; Grace was eighteen. Eighteen. The golden age. The age everyone aspires to be. The age that Faith was counting down the days for. The day she believed would be her freedom and her escape. But for Grace, eighteen was the end.

She never got the chance to graduate high school or go to prom. She didn't have to go through the stress of applying to schools or thinking about jobs. She never had to drive her parents crazy with her tantrums, or bring them tears on the day that she moved out. At eighteen, it all ended.

Faith couldn't help but speculate about all the other things her sister would never do. Get married, have children, grow old. The simple things that we take for granted, and Grace wouldn't experience a single one of them. She would never know what it would be like to work an office job. To commute to work every day. To feel the tensions of her marriage. To feel the pressures of being a mother, but also the immense pride and joy that came with it. She would never look at her sister again, tell her that she loved her. Faith would never be able to look to anyone again.

And that was why she was in a perpetual state of anger all the time. She was angry at her parents, angry at the world. It was why she never quite smiled the way that she used to. Why she never got too close to anyone except for Sebastian. Why she looked at girls and shuddered rather than smiled. Because it all meant that they were happy and living their lives, while her sister wouldn't have the chance.

It was why Faith despised everything and everyone around her. It was why she despised her mother for believing that this move to Meadow would somehow fix everything. Faith was angry at the world, and she had every right to be. Every single ounce of joy and happiness that she once possessed had been taken from her. Stolen, without permission. Everything had changed, and nothing would ever be the same again.

This was what she said to Hope that night, lying on the bed, Hope's pillow to her chest. And she wouldn't have said a word to Hope about it ever. But she had seen that tattoo. And she had spoken her name. Grace.

And so there she was, spilling her entire heart out to Hope, an unwilling victim in this unloading of Faith's entirety. The words came slow at first. Apprehensive and hesitant. But the more she spoke, the more she felt the words flowing from her mouth. She told Hope everything there was to know about Grace. She told her stories about their lives. She described the kind of person she was, the person Faith believed she would have become.

And the best part of all was that Hope didn't say a word. She didn't need to. She simply let Faith talk, and she listened. Something so simple and so easy, yet something Faith never thought she'd be able to do with another person ever again.

_____

After that night, something changed between Hope and Faith. It wasn't Hope, per se, rather, it was Faith. Something shifted in her conscious. Hope maintained the same approach that she had always taken with Faith: willing to be there for her and listen. Faith simply didn't see it before, didn't allow it. She refused to believe that anyone could ever understand her pain, and quite frankly, she didn't want them to. She didn't want sympathetic eyes or a touch to the hand. She wanted indifference and solitude.

But that night – opening up and telling Hope everything – it made her feel something. As though talking about her past and her loss could somehow be cathartic. And not only that, but she hadn't opened up to anyone in a very long time. So here was this girl, who she had spilled her life story to, and it somehow created a bond between them. A bond that would be unrelenting and pivotal. Faith would eventually come to cherish this bond above all else.

That night may not have meant much in the grand scheme of things, but it meant something to Faith. And that was when the shift began.