“I’m the oldest,” she would announce proudly. “That means I make the decisions.”
Leila would groan every single time.
“Seven minutes isn’t being older.”
“It absolutely is,” Nora would reply with a grin.
Those arguments became the soundtrack of our childhood.
Laughter echoed through hallways. Pillows flew across bedrooms. Crayons mysteriously appeared on walls despite repeated warnings from our exhausted mother.
Whenever Leila and I argued over toys, clothes, or seats at the dinner table, Nora stepped in like a tiny diplomat.
“She had it yesterday,” Leila would complain.
“And you can have it tomorrow,” Nora would answer calmly. “Today it’s Gia’s turn.”
“You always take her side.”
“No,” Nora would insist. “I take the side of peace.”
Then she would make a ridiculous face until we both burst out laughing.
