I swipe at my face, but it doesn’t help. The tears keep coming.
I don’t even hear Callie pull up.
But her heels fill my ears, causing me to look up.
She wraps her arms around me, pulling me close.
I can’t see her clearly.
I can’t see anything through the flood of tears.
Right there on the street, I break in her arms.
The first time I’ve ever done that in my younger sister’s arms.
The first time I’ve ever broken in my life.
And it all crashes down.
I don’t rememberCallie helping me to the car.
Or the drive home.
I look up when I hear the garage door opening, realizing we’re home.
As she pulls in, my breathing is uneven.
My entire body shakes.
For a moment, I’m not here.
Not in this car.
I’m a teenager, standing in a house that never felt like mine. Waiting for parents who never stayed long enough to matter.
They left me with nannies. With staff. With people paid to care but didn’t.
Then Callie came along.
And they left us both alone together.
I had someone to take care of now. Someone to teach.
And I loved her so much, I’d do anything to spare her from the loneliness and abandonment that haunted me.
I taught her how to observe. Adapt.
How to become what people expected.
And it worked.
It kept us both safe.
For a while.
Later, they took an interest.
But not in us.
