My Brother Confronted Our Mom About Our Secret Dead Sister — But The Truth Was Much More Tragic
Part 1
I rested the bakery box on the kitchen island and carefully unclasped the cardboard tabs.
The vanilla buttercream frosting on Brenda’s birthday cake had barely survived the drive over.
My mother stood by the sink, humming a tune as she rinsed a cluster of green grapes.
She kept glancing at the clock on the stove
Craig was bringing his new girlfriend to dinner, and Brenda had been talking about it for weeks.
My younger brother wasn’t exactly known for long-term relationships
He usually dated someone for a month before finding a ridiculous reason to bolt.
Megan had somehow lasted six months.
Brenda arranged the grapes around a platter of sliced cheeses and cracked pepper crackers.
She wiped her hands on a dish towel, her eyes bright with nervous excitement.
The doorbell chimed right on cue.
Brenda practically sprinted toward the front hall to greet them.
I followed at a much slower pace, leaning against the archway.
Craig stepped inside first, shaking the evening drizzle from his dark jacket.
Megan stood behind him, clutching a bouquet of yellow tulips like a protective shield.
She had wide, nervous eyes and a tight, polite smile.
Brenda pulled her into a warm hug before Megan could even offer the flowers.
The dining room table was already set with the good plates and heavy cloth napkins.
We took our seats while Brenda poured everyone a glass of ice water.
The conversation started out light, mostly revolving around the terrible traffic on the interstate.
As the minutes ticked by, Megan slowly relaxed her grip on her napkin.
Resting her chin on her palm, Brenda asked where she grew up and what her parents did for a living.
Choosing her words carefully, Megan answered with polite, incredibly brief sentences.
Brenda took a sip of her water and asked if Megan had any siblings.
Megan smiled for the first time and mentioned her older brother.
Brenda’s expression instantly softened.
She set her glass down and let out a wistful sigh.
“I bet your mother loved having one of each,” she murmured.
Brenda reached over and gently patted Craig’s arm.
“I love both of my boys, but I did always want a little girl.”
Megan’s smile vanished in the blink of an eye.
Her brow furrowed, and she shot a frantic glance toward Craig.
She looked like she had just watched someone drop a fragile vase onto a concrete floor.
Brenda quickly pulled her hand back.
She asked Megan if she had accidentally said something wrong.
Craig answered before his girlfriend could even open her mouth.
He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning stark white.
“That’s a really messed up thing to say,” Craig muttered.
His voice was dangerously low, carrying a harsh edge I hadn’t heard before.
Brenda blinked in total confusion and looked over at me for help.
I held up my hands and shook my head.
Craig whipped his head in my direction.
“Wait, do you seriously not know about Emily?” he asked.
I stared at him.
“Who?”
Craig slammed his fist down onto the heavy oak table.
The silverware rattled aggressively against the china plates.
Brenda flinched back in her chair, pressing her hand against her chest.
Craig pointed a shaking finger directly at our mother.
“I see exactly what’s happening here,” he snapped.
“You’re trying to erase her entire existence, but I won’t let you.”
Craig pushed his chair back so hard it scraped violently against the hardwood floor.
He grabbed Megan by the wrist and pulled her toward the front door.
The silence in the dining room felt utterly suffocating.
Brenda kept her hand over her heart, her breathing shallow and ragged.
She finally turned to look at me.
“Who on earth is Emily?” she whispered.
I rubbed the back of my neck, completely bewildered.
I had absolutely no idea what had just happened.
Brenda started chewing on her thumbnail, a nervous habit she only broke out when she was truly terrified.
She asked if this could possibly have anything to do with the accident.
Six months ago, a heavy delivery truck had rear-ended Craig’s sedan at a red light.
His car had been pushed straight down into a deep drainage ditch.
He had suffered severe whiplash and a brutal concussion.
I told her that hallucinating secret siblings wasn’t exactly a standard concussion symptom.
I grabbed my car keys from the kitchen counter.
I knew exactly where he would go to cool off.
His favorite coffee shop was only ten minutes down the winding road.
I promised Brenda I would figure it out and bring him right back.
The short drive felt entirely too long.
I spotted his silver car parked near the back of the dimly lit coffee shop lot.
The bell above the glass door jingled as I stepped inside.
The place was mostly empty, smelling strongly of roasted beans and stale pastries.
Craig and Megan were sitting in a cracked vinyl booth in the far corner.
Craig looked up, saw me, and actually smiled.
He casually waved me over as if he hadn’t just screamed at our mother.
I slid into the booth directly across from them.
I leaned across the scuffed wooden table and looked my brother directly in the eye.
I asked him who Emily was.
Craig’s relaxed demeanor evaporated in an instant.
He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper.
“Emily was my twin sister,” he said.
He claimed she had died and that Brenda was actively trying to cover it up.
My mind frantically scrambled to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth.
I was exactly four years older than Craig.
I clearly remembered the chilly afternoon Brenda brought him home from the hospital wrapped in a blue blanket.
There had absolutely been no twin sister.
I asked him if he meant a twin lost during the early stages of pregnancy.
Craig shook his head adamantly.
She looked absolutely terrified, her skin pale under the fluorescent lights.
I turned back to my brother, the silence in the coffee shop suddenly feeling like a trap.
I asked him exactly how he knew about Emily, and he leaned across the table to whisper that he had played with her in Aunt Diane’s backyard.
