Everything changed when Evan was born. Things changed for me more so than anyone else, including Evan's own parents. She was our mother's fourth child, and she was her father's seventh child… but she was my first child. Her conception was a failed attempt to bandage a broken marriage, and thus her arrival into this world was something I had been dreading as the big sister who was left to clean up the messes of our mother; yet when that day came on July 23, 2008, the pure joy I felt was such that Evan's birth bandaged my broken adolescent heart. While her mother was on an operating table getting her tubes tied, and while her father was at the bar getting drunk, it was me who stood at the window of the nursery. I looked at Evan in awe from behind the glass. I remained there alone, watching her well after our other family members had dispersed. I couldn't even see her face, but to hear her tiny cry and to see her tiny body was enough. All my twelve-year-old self could think was 'That one is mine.' When my mother was finally back in her room after her procedure, the nurses brought my new baby sister in. I nervously walked up to her crib with eyes wide open. I saw her sleeping face for the first time, and she was simply beautiful with brown skin and curly black hair. You would think I had all the secrets of the universe swaddled up in my arms the way I slowly, delicately picked the little bundle up out of the crib. But instead, it was Evan, and if I had to choose, well, the universe could keep its secrets because I had something greater.