The room was still, save for the soft, rhythmic breathing of my sister and my niece. In the suffocating quiet, I found myself staring at my sister, my mind turning over the memory of the aunts like a stone in my palm.
If she is pretending now, I wondered, if all this subservience to the new stepmother is just a calculated act to survive, then what was it back then?
She had been a child—barely twelve or thirteen—when she sat in that room with our aunts. I searched my memory for any hint of hesitation or hidden pain in her face, but I found none. She had been so fluid, so effortlessly cruel, and so perfectly aligned with them. Was she already that clever? Was she already a master of the mask, or was she telling the truth back then, and this 'survival' act is just a new lie she's telling herself?
The thought made my skin crawl. If she had been acting that well at thirteen, then who was the real person underneath? Was it the girl who betrayed our mother, or the sister who now claims she's doing it all for my safety? I couldn't find a single moment in my life where I had seen her true self. Perhaps there was no "true self". Perhaps she had been wearing a costume for so long that she had forgotten what her own skin looked like.
"Sister?" I whispered into the dark, my voice trembling with the weight of these unanswered questions. "Are you still awake?"
Silence. I waited for minutes that felt like hours and my questions were suffocating me, but her steady breathing never faltered. She was gone into the void of sleep, leaving me stranded in the wreckage of the past.
I turned away, pulling the blanket tight around myself. I'll ask her when she wakes, I decided, though my heart felt heavy with the knowledge that answers might not change the truth. I tried to close my eyes, hoping for the mercy of a dreamless nap, but my mind was a fractured mirror. Every time I settled, the image of my childhood self—shocked and betrayed—flashed before me. Sleep was impossible.
I reached for my phone, scrolling mindlessly through music playlists, but even the melodies felt like mockery. I eventually opened a streaming app, letting the vibrant, hollow colors of a series wash over me. It was a distraction, a thin veil to cover the truth: I was becoming a stranger in my own house, living among people who wore masks I hadn't yet learned to craft.
Hours bled away. Finally, the muffled sounds of shifting bodies and luggage-dragging reached my ears. The relatives were leaving.
I slipped out of my room, my footsteps silent. I stood at the threshold of the living room, watching the aunts and the others gather their things, their loud, performative goodbyes echoing off the walls. I stayed in the shadows, my arms crossed, watching them go. I offered no "come back soon," no polite farewells. My silence was the only armor I had left. When the heavy front door finally clicked shut, sealing them out, the house felt terrifyingly, beautifully empty.
I returned to my room. My niece was stirring, her small eyes blinking open in the twilight. My sister was still deeply unconscious, oblivious to the world she had navigated so coldly. I sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, gently playing with my niece's fingers. Her innocence was a sharp contrast to the web of lies I had just uncovered.
When my sister finally stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes, I opened my mouth to confront her. I wanted to spill the memory, to demand to know why she had chosen their approval over our own mother. But the chaos of the house—the lingering scent of their departure and the pressure of the upcoming night—stole the moment. She was moving, rushing, already transitioning into the next phase of our performance.
I eventually retreated to my desk, the books spread out before me like a duty I no longer felt capable of fulfilling. The question remained, a jagged stone in my mind. I couldn't confront her now; I had to maintain my own internal balance.
I will ask her tonight, I told myself, turning the page of my textbook. Tonight, when the world is quiet and there is nowhere left for her to hide, she will have to tell me why she traded our mother's memory for a seat at the table.
The hours crawled forward like a slow-moving shadow, each one heavier than the last. I buried myself in my books, the words swimming before my eyes, but my focus was entirely on the ticking clock. My chest felt tight, the questions like embers burning behind my ribs, but I forced myself to remain calm. To speak now, in the middle of the bustle, would only be to let the performance continue. I had to wait.
Dinner was a blur of polite nods and forced smiles. I ate in silence, my ears ringing with the phantom sounds of my sister's smooth, deceptive voice. How do you do it? I wanted to ask her right then and there. How do you sit here, eat this food, and act as if nothing is wrong? But I didn't. I kept my head down, nursing my frustration, terrified that if I opened my mouth, the truth would spill out and ruin the fragile peace of the room.
When dinner ended, I retreated to our room, the sanctuary of my own mind. I sat in the dark, watching the door. When she finally walked in, the air in the room seemed to shift.
She didn't look at me. She went straight to the bed, picking up my niece with a tenderness. She began to sway, her voice dropping into a soft, melodic lullaby. The tune was sweet, hauntingly familiar, and utterly chilling. I watched her, the shadow of the girl who had betrayed our mother overlapping with the woman who was singing now.
She lay my niece down with practiced care, tucking the blanket around her carefully. Then, she began to prepare for bed, her movements unhurried, her face a serene mask of calm.
"The room is silent, and the performance is over. Iris is finally ready to strip away the mask. Iris believes that finding the truth will give her clarity, but what if the truth is that her sister has no "true self" left at all?
The lamp is dim, the house is dark, and the secret is ready to be spoken. One question is all it takes to burn the bridge between them forever. Will Iris survive the answer, or will she lose the only sister and hope she has left? Let's stay with us to find out the answers."