And even though she was always the one to watch me as we grew up, that didn’t mean I wasn’t always aware of her, either. I still remembered the day she was born. Sixteen years, eleven months, and eighteen days ago. That crisp November morning when my mother let me hold her and then my father immediately took her out of my arms and laid her next to Trevor, who was just a baby then, too. Even at three I understood. She was Trevor’s.
