When my older sister Eliza showed up to my twins’ fourth birthday with a shimmering pink-and-gold gift almost as tall as my girls, everyone assumed it was generosity. But minutes before we opened presents, my younger sister Mindy burst through the door, breathless and terrified.
“Please tell me you haven’t opened Eliza’s gift,” she said. “Don’t. Whatever you do.”
I have two sisters and have spent most of my life stuck between them. Eliza, the oldest, has always needed perfection—perfect kids, perfect image, perfect attention. Mindy, the youngest, is warmth and instinct. And then there’s me, the peacekeeper.
Things with Eliza shifted when I had twins. Her support turned sharp: jokes about “double chaos,” comments about twins being a “novelty,” not real parenting. After the girls were born, it got worse. I eventually realized the truth—she wasn’t jealous of me. She was jealous of my children.
Mindy overheard Eliza bragging that her gift would “show who deserved to be the favorite.” So before my daughters could open it, I checked the box.
Inside was one plush toy. Just one. With a card: “For the prettiest and best-behaved girl.”
Eliza wanted my four-year-olds to fight.
She left angry when confronted. That night, my husband found a second identical toy. The next day, my girls opened the box and screamed with joy when they saw two.
And that was the moment I knew: protecting my children matters more than keeping the peace—every time.