Part 2: The Silent Treatment
Part 2: The Silent Treatment
My mother didn't turn around. She didn't cry. She just gripped the window frame until her knuckles turned a ghostly white. The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating, like a thick wool blanket draped over my head. My father’s hand stayed firm on my arm, not quite hurting me, but signaling that I wasn't going anywhere until he decided. 'Dad, let go,' I hissed, shaking him off. I walked over to my mother, the woman who had tucked me in every night, the woman I thought I knew. 'Mom? Tell me she died. Tell me it was a tragedy and it was too painful to talk about. Please.'
She finally turned, and the look in her eyes wasn't grief. It was resentment. Pure, unadulterated bitterness. 'You were always the curious one, Elena,' she said, her voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on pavement. 'Your father told me you’d find it eventually. He said your blood would call to hers.' I recoiled as if she’d slapped me. My father sighed, adjusting his suit jacket, regaining that 'Judge' persona that commanded rooms. He told me to sit down, that there were things about our family's 'standing' that a young woman couldn't understand. He started talking about a scandal from twenty-six years ago, about a choice that had to be made to protect the family's reputation after a 'complication' at the hospital.
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He claimed Elise was 'unwell' and had to be sent to a specialized facility, where she eventually passed away from a heart defect. He said they didn't tell me because they wanted me to have a 'clean' childhood, free of the shadow of a dead sister. It sounded logical. It sounded like the kind of lie a protective father would tell. For a second, I almost believed him. I almost let out a breath of relief. But then I looked down at the birth certificate again. I noticed a detail I had missed in my initial shock. The 'death' date my father just mentioned didn't match the hospital stamp on the back of the certificate. The stamp was dated five years after she supposedly died.
'You're lying,' I whispered. My father’s expression shifted. The warmth drained from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating stare that I had only ever seen him use on criminals in court. He stepped closer, leaning into my personal space. 'Elena, you are getting married in three days. You have a beautiful life ahead of you. Don't throw it away for a ghost.' I backed away, heading for the door. I needed to get out of that house. As I reached for the handle, my mother finally spoke again, her eyes fixed on the darkening garden outside. 'She isn't a ghost, Julian. She’s at the gate.'
