I pulled into my sister’s driveway on a cool late September afternoon, the kind where the air feels still and expectant, like it is holding its breath for whatever comes next. I had driven over straight from work in downtown Milwaukee, still in my blazer, still with my laptop bag in the back seat, telling myself this visit would be simple. One day before Evelyn’s wedding.
One quick check-in. One last sister moment before everything in her life shifted. It was strange how hopeful I still was, even after all these years of drifting apart.
I stepped inside without knocking, because that was how we used to be, back when we were two girls clinging to each other after losing our parents in a winter accident that shattered everything.
Back then, Evelyn was all I had left. I used to tell myself I was all she had left too.
Her living room was filled with garment bags, fresh flowers, and the faint smell of hairspray. Evelyn stood in front of a long mirror in her guest room, still in jeans but wearing the bodice of her wedding gown, her hair pinned into a loose updo.
She looked radiant in that effortless way she always had, the kind that made people naturally fall in line behind her. Yet when she saw me in the doorway, her shoulders tightened just a little.
I moved closer, offering to help smooth the fabric where it wrinkled near her hip. It had once been natural for me to slip into the role of helper, fixer, little sister who made everything easier.
I had spent my whole life doing that for her, long after most people stopped needing help from anyone. She let me tug gently on the skirt to adjust the hem. I knelt to straighten the layers, and as I did, she looked down at me with a smile so calm and cold it made the back of my neck prickle.
She said, in a bright, almost playful tone that did not match her eyes, that the greatest gift for her wedding would be me disappearing from our family.
For a moment, I thought I misheard her.
My hands froze on the fabric. The room felt smaller, the air suddenly too thin.
Behind her, Gavin stepped into view. He was thirty-five, handsome in that perfectly groomed athletic way, wearing a fitted button-down and the same customer-service grin he gave everyone.
Even now, it looked practiced, like something he kept in his pocket and clipped on whenever he needed to charm someone. He rested a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder with casual ownership.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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