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You're ten years old the first time you wish that you didn't have a brother.
It's a cruel thought to have and you know that from the very instant it crosses your mind, something to be shoved aside as quickly as possible, deep down to where it doesn't need to matter anymore. But it doesn't shut down that avenue of possibility: what would life be like without William? Lonelier, probably, nobody to hang onto your every word and look at you as if you hung the stars in the sky. Of course you would miss him, he's your brother.
But there's an awful part of you that worries it might be better if he wasn't around. You'd have more friends for sure, kids who won't look twice at you right now 'cause of your weird little shadow lurking on the outskirts, finally able to hang out with people without him watching from a distance. And maybe everyone else would enjoy that more as well. Maybe your mother could say something nice about you that wasn't followed by a sigh about how she wishes he could be more like you. Maybe Will would be happier too. She can't hit him if he isn't here at all. He falls into the background so easily when he isn't having one of his meltdowns (and you'd gladly wish those didn't exist, comes the surge of frustration at how he can't just... act like the rest of you), not much would even have to change, really.
There's nobody you can tell about this. Will doesn't deserve to hear that. Certainly not your mother, she'll just blame it on him anyway. And you don't have any friends who you could honestly say wouldn't agree with that sentiment.
So it's just your little secret, one you think about in the dark after he's messed up again for the hundredth time, and feel relieved he's never been able to look you in the eyes because you're terrified he'll somehow see the truth of it there. No, you don't really want him gone, do you? You love him. You let him tag along when you go out usually, you tell him he just needs more practice with his magic and let yourself hope that it's true, you wheedle your mother into taking him to the doctor when he hurts himself even though blood grosses you out. That has to be enough, for both of you.
He doesn't ask for more. He never asks for anything.
It's a long, long time after that when you think (with just a little tug of that old guilt) that wishes really do come true. Not quite in the way you imagined, but if you'd known having a sister would be like this then you would have wished for that in the first place.
Granted, you can't say you knew this was a possibility. You had no idea they felt so ill at ease with themselves - hadn't considered the idea that anyone cared whatsoever about that facet of their identity, truthfully - but Maxwell seems as new to this development as you are, so there's some comfort in that.
The person who came out of that train crash is nothing like the one you grew up with. It happens practically overnight; there's a couple weeks of radio silence right after you get the word he's alive, and then 'The Amazing Maxwell' is making headlines, reappearing back in your life with a career and an assistant and a confident smile on their face that's utterly new to you. Max rockets to success while you're still reeling from the shock of it, trying to convince yourself this is real. What happened to the little brother you held in your arms for the first time when you were barely more than a kid yourself, who wouldn't stop crying no matter how much you tried to comfort them? What happened to that sickly, morose child with the unfortunate stutter, the one that invited more pity than pride from you?
Well, you certainly needn't pity him anymore, surely even your mother would be pleased with the life they've made for themselves now if she was still here to see it; a fiancé he speaks of with nothing but adoration, a place in the spotlight, a voice that doesn't waver or crack. You hoped he would succeed, and this exceeds your most optimistic expectations by a mile. Maybe you would be more envious if you didn't have such joys of your own, your wife and your precious, perfect daughters, or if it hadn't been such smooth sailing to reach that point long before he did. It's just a relief, to find their future isn't as miserable as you imagined it would.
She's happy. That feels like the strangest part, unkind as it may be be, but Max is more content with her life on stage than you've ever seen her before. You still can't quite believe they managed to get somewhere doing magic tricks, even if these ones are unlike anything you watched them practice so long ago.
You're happy too. A family of your very own, a chance to better connect with the one you've always had, and the more the merrier on the horizon. You suspect he'll take Charlies name to add a little more distance between the old and the new, but you can't begrudge him that when you did the exact same by moving to America.
It's like a new beginning, a chance to rewrite your mistakes. If Max is going to cast aside the past, then why shouldn't you?
The funeral is a quiet affair. You didn't plan any of it. You'd wanted to do that because there's nothing else to do for Max now, but your days have consisted of looking after the twins and waiting sleeplessly for the sun to rise on another day without her in the world. How fitting, that you abandon him even in this. It's attended not by your own family because all you have left are too young to know what became of the aunt they won't remember, but by near-strangers coming all this way just to say their goodbyes to someone they don't know, to remind you of a wedding that will never happen. It's an odd feeling to grieve somebody you've never met, but when Charlies parents tell you how fondly she spoke of your sibling, you can feel it swallow you whole. How kind of them to help despite the fact they have their own grave to dig too. The world begins and ends with the knowledge of that bright future already reduced to merely memories.
That's all that's left when all is said and done. An unanswered letter. An empty coffin. A headstone you'd needed to fight to get his real name put on, and a grave far away from your mothers because why on earth would she have cared enough to include him in the family plot?
(You don't know it yet, but when the time comes to bury your daughters - one at peace, and one more never found - you'll put them beside Max instead of her.)
You laugh to yourself, looking down at the roses you hadn't picked out and finally understanding what could have made them hurt themselves the way they did, because you want to tear through the tightly packed earth until your hands bleed; give into that last, desperate fantasy that maybe if you can dig her back up and check again, you'll at least know her body is still with you, that you could still protect her from being alone at least.
You got exactly what you asked for.