Today, around 11 a.m., Clara returned home after a four-month business trip. She didn’t call ahead to let her husband or son know she was coming. In her bag, she carried some vegetables, a piece of meat, and some food they both liked; Clara just wanted to cook them something warm, like before.

Clara felt the air leave her lungs. A lie. Another layer. Her sister had been gone for five years.

“And Leo?” she whispered. “Why was he in there? Why was he looking at you like that?”

Julian took a step forward, but Clara retreated, the kitchen counter pressing into her spine.

“Leo hasn’t been sleeping,” Julian said, his voice trembling now. “Since you left, the nightmares started again. The ones about the accident. He couldn’t stay in his room. He’d come in at 3 a.m., shaking, terrified. I let him stay. It was the only way he felt safe.”

He paused, searching her face for a flicker of belief.

    “We weren’t hiding a betrayal of the heart, Clara. We were hiding the fact that we are broken without you. We didn’t know how to tell you that the ‘perfect’ house you wanted was falling apart the second you shut the door.”