Patience Kabbah was neither observant nor assertive. Those who knew the Kabbahs often wondered how, exactly, she had produced one daughter who was particularly sharp, and another who was especially demanding.

If anyone had thought to ask Patience, she would have told them that it happened quite by accident. But people rarely asked Patience about things.

Her name suited her well, but ‘Contentment’ would have suited better. She was, by nature, an eternally satisfied woman; and, despite the difficulties life had thrown at her, this commitment to satisfaction always carried her through. Of course, she didn’t think of it as a commitment to satisfaction. She saw it as God’s plan, and followed faithfully.

When the love of her life, an older, powerful lawyer, turned out to be married, Patience had not worried. She had simply loved him anyway, and been rewarded with two children, a large house, and a life-long income.

That the house was in England as opposed to Sierra Leone, and that the love of her life eventually moved on to greener pastures, did not trouble Patience overmuch. She supposed that England would do, since she spoke the language well and it was not too foreign. She supposed also that she would eventually find the next love of her life, and at least she could take her time looking.

And so, decades after arriving in Ravenswood, Patience was, always had been, and doubtless always would be, blissfully content. Her greatest sorrow was that, somehow, her daughters had ended up quite the opposite. Neither of them were happy to simply float through life, and as far as she could tell, it caused them nothing but trouble.

Take this Sunday, for example. The family had cooked together, as they did every week, but their usual laughter was absent. It was not at all hard to discern why. Within minutes of her daughters’ arrival, Patience deduced that Hannah was worried about Ruth, and furiously resentful of the fact. She also deduced that Ruth was oblivious to Hannah’s resentment, but was certainly upset over… Something. With Ruth, one never really knew.

Patience spent the rest of the painfully silent afternoon wondering if she should assist her awfully prideful children in resolving their issues—all of which stemmed from caring and doing far too much in a world made for the careless and passive. She decided, after many internal sighs, that she’d better. Her daughters had a knack for running into trouble if left unattended.

“Girls,” she said, as they moved to clear the table.

Hannah answered quickly and politely. “Yes, Mummy?”

Ruth, who had always been a strange and disrespectful child, said, “Yeah?”

“Do not come out of the kitchen,” Patience said, “until you have solved your problems.”

Ruth frowned. The child would certainly wrinkle before her time. “What problems?”

With a weary sigh, Patience said, “Ask your sister.” Then she turned and began her search for the TV commander. She was quite exhausted by that tense interaction, and she wanted to watch Deal or No Deal.

* * *

“What was that about?” Ruth crouched by the cupboard under the sink, hunting out a fresh bottle of washing up liquid.

Then she heard the kitchen door shut with a decisive click.

Ruth pulled her head from the cupboard and stared. Her sister was standing in front of the door with her arms folded, a familiar, stern set to her mouth.

“You know,” Ruth began cautiously, “Just because Mum said—”

“She’s right. She’s always right. I want to talk to you.”

The word talk had become Ruth’s personal nightmare over the last few days. She’d examined it from every angle, explored its every connotation, remembered every time Evan had asked her to do it, and decided that talking was for the devil.

But she always tried not to upset her sister. So Ruth stood, and dusted off her hands on the back of her leggings, and said, “Okay.”

Hannah sighed. Ruth knew from experience that this indicated an extensive lecture on the horizon. Accordingly, she leant back against the counter.

And then she remembered Evan lifting her up to sit on the edge of a sink, asking her—asking her—for a kiss.

“I heard that Daniel and Evan had a disagreement,” Hannah said.

Ruth sighed. “Seriously? That’s what you want to talk about?”

“I thought that was why you’re so upset. Apparently, Evan’s in a bad way.”

Ruth stared. “Evan’s fine.”

“Really? No black eye?”

“Um… no.”

“No dislocated shoulder?”

“Definitely not.”

“Hm,” Hannah sniffed. “I suppose that rumour came from Daniel, then. But you admit they fought?”

“I really could not care less,” Ruth lied.

And Hannah said, “I’m tired of you pushing me away.”

For a minute, Ruth’s mind stuttered; was this Hannah, or was it Evan? Or was it Maria, two years ago, or Hayley, before her?

Ruth swallowed. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know,” Hannah said. “That makes it worse.”

Ruth wanted to turn away. She wanted to avoid her sister’s gaze and pour her focus into something else, some mundane task. She wanted to split up her attention so that processing these words wouldn’t seem quite so intense. She wanted this conversation to feel like less of a slap in the face. But she was done with being a coward, so she stayed exactly where she was.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said. “I’m really fucking sorry.”

Well… that was a surprise. Ruth frowned, trying to figure out if she’d missed something.

Finally, she just had to ask. “Sorry for what?”

Hannah gave her a look. “You know what. And I know that this is—God, years too late—but if it weren’t for me acting like a damn fool you wouldn’t be in the position you are now.”

The pieces slid together. Ruth stared at her sister with growing horror as she realised what Hannah was trying to say.

“No,” Ruth insisted. “No. That’s not true. It’s not your fault. It’s my fault, and his fault, and—”

“Your fault?” Hannah echoed, her face incredulous. “Jesus. Sometimes it occurred to me that you might genuinely think that, but I didn’t believe it.” She rubbed at her own temple for a moment, her expression melting into weariness. “I should have, though, shouldn’t I? That’s why you’re like this. That’s why you’re punishing yourself.”

Ruth looked down at the kitchen tiles; familiar, cream squares. Following the lines of pale grout between them helped her clear the thoughts crowding her head, helped her pinpoint the most important part. “I’m not punishing myself. I’m not pushing you away.”

“Bullshit,” Hannah said, her tone incongruously gentle. “I know you adore that man.”

Ruth’s breath caught in her throat. “Evan?”

“Yes, Evan. And now you can’t deny it, because if it wasn’t true, his name wouldn’t have even occurred to you.” Hannah gave a little tilt of the head that brought to mind their childhood, the pointless, circular arguments they’d have that she would always win.

Ruth bit down on the inside of her cheek. “I don’t see what Evan has to do with us.”

“I suppose he’s just a symptom of the issue.” Hannah spoke quietly, her voice clipped. “You’re so committed to keeping people at arm’s length, you can’t tell your own sister that you’re falling in love. We don’t do secrets anymore, Ruth. Remember?”

“Don’t,” Ruth snapped, her temper flaring. “This is nothing like the last time.”

“No, it’s not. It’s worse. Because he’s a decent person, and he’s honest, and he’s nothing to be ashamed of, and he makes you smile. And I had to find that out on my own, because you didn’t tell me. You knew I would be worried, you knew I would hear things—”

“Right,” Ruth snapped. “Because what you hear is so important. Why should I bother saying anything if gossip is all you need?”

“Why do you force people to look for it?” Hannah asked, exasperation in her every word. “I’m your sister. I would love to stop relying on strangers to tell me what you’re up to, but I have to. And if you don’t blame me--”

“I don’t,” Ruth insisted, because she never had and never would.

“If you don’t blame me, then why are we so far apart?” Hannah’s words were whisper-soft. She gave a rueful twist of the lips that was almost a smile, holding up her hands as if to say, Answer that.

“Because I don’t deserve you.” It felt like a shout, but it came to her own ears as a whisper. Across the room, Hannah froze. And Ruth forced herself to say the words again, properly this time. “I love you, and I don’t deserve you. Sometimes I can’t bear to look at you because I feel so guilty it chokes me.”

Hannah’s face crumpled. “That’s the last thing I ever wanted. You should never feel guilty, Ruth. Not ever.”

“I started this whole mess.”

“Daniel started this whole mess.” Hannah came forward, held out a hand. She was hesitant, Ruth could tell, but she was fearless too.

No; not fearless. Rather, she chose to spit in fear’s face.

Ruth caught her sister’s hand and released a locked-up truth. “I admire you more than anyone in the world.”

Hannah choked out a laugh that was perilously close to a sob. “I wish nursery managers around here were so open-minded.”

“Fuck that and fuck them.” Ruth pulled her sister into a hug. It felt immediately alien, and then, after a breath, wonderful. Like purest childhood reclaimed. She breathed in deep and felt her sister do the same. When they were young, very young, they’d talked about being twins. Imagined, and sometimes pretended, that they were. It had never been hard to convince people.

But, while they looked the same, they’d always been very different. Opposites, even.

Which was fine, Ruth realised. Good, in fact. Because identical puzzle pieces wouldn’t fit together like this.