Chapter 8 - The Knock at Midnight
That night, late, there was another knock. I opened the door to find Lauren—my sister—standing there, shivering, red‑rimmed eyes. She didn’t march in or demand anything. She just stood there.
“Can I come in?” she whispered.
I hesitated, then stepped aside. She walked into the living room and stood looking around like she was seeing it for the first time. “I didn’t know,” she said, quiet enough I almost didn’t hear. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be there. I thought you were too busy, too cool, too different. I didn’t realize Mom and Dad were just… leaving you out.” She swallowed hard. “I should have checked. I should have called. I’m your sister. I should have cared enough to ask.”
We sat on opposite ends of the couch, strangers finding our way back. She told me about the arguments at the inn—how Patricia had been furious when Dad left, how they’d fought about money and shares and who deserved what, until finally Lauren had stood up and said, What about Nora? Does she deserve nothing?
May you like
“I looked back at the photos,” she said. “Every year. You weren’t there. And I never noticed. That’s on me.”
We didn’t hug. Not then. But I passed her a mug of hot cocoa, and she took it, and for the first time in our lives, we talked—really talked—about everything.
