Episode 6: The Day Everything Fell Apart
When people talk about the day our lives changed, they always mention the storm. But there was no storm—not in the sky, at least. The storm was inside us.
It started like any other day. The house was full—relatives, neighbors, people we barely knew. My mother had died two weeks before, and now the lawyers were here to "finalize the estate."
What they really meant was: who gets what, and why.
Clara had been gone for over a year by then. She showed up that morning with her bags and a forced smile, acting like she hadn't disappeared right after the funeral. Everyone noticed. No one said a word.
I was tired. Of pretending. Of holding this family together with tape and silence.
At noon, we gathered in the living room for the reading of the will.
That's when the bomb dropped.
My mother had left me the house. Just me.
Clara stared at the papers. "She left it all to you?"
The room went silent.
"She must have assumed you'd never come back," I said, voice even.
Her face flushed. "You think I didn't care?"
"I think you ran when it got hard. Again."
"Don't do that," she snapped. "Don't make me the villain because I couldn't survive the way you did."
I stood up. My hands were trembling.
"You think I survived?" I whispered. "You think this—" I gestured around the room "—this is survival? I've been a ghost in this house. I buried both our parents. I signed the death certificates. Alone."
Clara turned and stormed toward the door.
Without thinking, I followed. I grabbed her arm on the front porch, and that's when the reporters showed up.
Cameras. Questions. Flashing lights.
We were the "Falk Sisters"—small-town girls from a prominent family, now fighting over a house on the front steps like a tragic soap opera.
Someone shouted Clara's name.
She froze. "I can't do this," she said, her voice cracking. "This house… this place… you. Everything here suffocates me."
Then she ran.
Down the street, past the trees, out of sight.
Just like when we were kids.
But this time, she didn't fall into the lake.
This time, she disappeared completely.
It's been a week since she left. No phone call. No message. Not even a forwarding address.
People keep asking me what happened.
I tell them, "Nothing."
But I know the truth.
The day Clara left, I lost more than a sister. I lost the version of myself who believed we could be whole again.
Now I sit in the hallway outside her empty room, listening to the silence she left behind.
And I wonder if I made a mistake by holding on so tightly to everything she wanted to forget.