A Love Left Behind

Chapter 8 - When She Stopped Talking

I don't remember the exact day Chloe stopped talking to Rea. I remember that she did.

One day, everything seemed normal. Chloe had come to the apartment with Dad, dropped her schoolbag by the door and answered when Rea asked her how school had been. She even laughed at something Dad said during dinner.

The next time we came, Chloe barely looked at her. “Hi, Chloe,” Rea said. “Hi.” That was all. She sat down at the table and opened her book. Rea glanced at Dad, but he only shrugged.

I didn't understand it either.

The following week, it was the same. Then it became worse.

Whenever Dad suggested that we go to the apartment, Chloe suddenly had homework. Or she was tired. Or she wanted to stay at Mum's. She never said that she didn't want to see Rea. She simply found reasons not to.

I noticed before the adults did.

Children notice strange things. They don't always understand them, but they notice.

One afternoon, Dad picked us up from school and told us we were going to Rea's. I immediately smiled. Chloe didn't. “I'm going home.” Dad looked at her through the rear-view mirror. “Why?” “I have homework.” “You can do it at Rea's.” “I don't want to.” Dad was quiet for a moment. “Chloe.” “I said I don't want to.”

Her voice wasn't loud. That was what made it strange.

Dad didn't argue. He drove to Mum's house instead.

I stared at Chloe from the back seat. “Why don't you like Rea anymore?” She turned toward the window. “I never said I don't like her.” “You don't talk to her.” “So?” “You used to.” She didn't answer.

I waited. Eventually, she turned around and looked at me. “You don't understand.” “What?” “Nothing.” I hated that answer. “Tell me.” “No.” “Why?” “Because you're a child.” I frowned. “So are you.” She rolled her eyes. “I'm older than you.” “That doesn't mean you're not a child.”

For a second, I thought she was going to laugh.

She didn't.

Instead, she looked away again.

I didn't know what I had done wrong.

Rea noticed too.

Of course she did.

She noticed everything.

One evening, while Dad was in the kitchen, I heard her ask him quietly, “Did I do something?” Dad stopped. “What?” “With Chloe.” “No.” “You're sure?” He nodded. “She'll get over it.” Rea didn't look convinced. “Did she say anything to you?” “No.” “Then maybe you should ask her.” “I have.” “And?” “She doesn't want to talk about it.” Rea sighed. “Maybe she needs time.” Dad reached for her hand. “Don't blame yourself.” She looked down at their hands. “I don't.”

But I could tell she did.

At five, I didn't understand why.

Now I know that Rea had spent years trying not to take anything from us. She had never asked to be our mother. She had never tried to replace Mum. She had never interfered with school, rules, birthdays or the things that belonged to our family.

And yet, somehow, Chloe had begun to see her as the person responsible for everything that had changed.

A few days later, I found Chloe sitting alone in her room.

She was staring at an old photograph.

It was one of the four of us.

Mum, Dad, Chloe and me.

I climbed onto the bed beside her. “What's that?” “Nothing.” “You're looking at it.” “I know.”

I looked at the picture. We were all smiling. Dad had his arm around Mum. Chloe was standing between them. I was in front, holding a toy car.

“We looked happy,” I said.

Chloe didn't answer.

“We were happy.”

She looked at me. “Were we?”

I didn't know what to say.

Of course we were.

At least, I thought we were.

I didn't know that photographs could lie without showing a single false thing. They could capture a smile without capturing what happened before or after it. They could freeze a moment and make it look like a whole life.

Chloe put the photograph away. “Don't tell Mum I showed you.” “I won't.” “And don't tell Dad.” “Okay.” She looked at me seriously. “Promise?” “Promise.”

I didn't know what I was promising.

That night, I asked Dad if Chloe was angry with him. He looked surprised. “Why would you think that?” “Because she doesn't want to go to Rea's anymore.” He was quiet. Then he said, “Sometimes people need time.” “Why?” “Because feelings are complicated.” I thought about that. “Are yours complicated?” Dad smiled sadly. “Sometimes.”

I didn't like that answer either.

I wanted adults to explain things properly.

Instead, they always seemed to have answers that created more questions.

For a while, I tried to fix things myself.

I told Chloe funny stories about Rea. I told her about the cake Rea had burned. I told her how Rea had accidentally bought the wrong cereal. I even told her that Rea had said Chloe was the best at remembering things.

None of it worked.

One afternoon, I finally asked her directly. “Did Rea do something bad?” Chloe looked at me for a long time. Then she shook her head. “No.” “Then why don't you talk to her?” She looked away. “Because I don't want to.” “That's stupid.” Her face changed immediately. “Don't call me stupid.” “I didn't mean you.” “Yes, you did.” “I meant the reason.” She crossed her arms. “You don't know the reason.” “Then tell me.” “No.” I felt my temper rising. “You're always doing this!” “Doing what?” “Being mean for no reason!” She stood up. “Maybe there is a reason!” “What is it?” “I said no!”

She walked past me and slammed the door.

I stood there, angry and confused.

I wanted to follow her.

Instead, I stayed where I was.

It was the first time I realized that sometimes wanting someone to be okay didn't mean you could make them talk.

Years later, I would understand that Chloe's silence had never been about one single thing.

It was a collection of small wounds. Things she had heard. Things she had seen. Things she believed. Things nobody had properly explained to her.

And perhaps most importantly, the pain she saw in our mother.

Chloe didn't know how to separate her mother's pain from her father's choices.

She didn't know that Leo and Maxime's marriage had been breaking long before Rea entered his life.

She only knew that Rea had arrived afterward.

So, in Chloe's mind, the story was simple.

Dad had left.

Mum was hurting.

Rea was there.

And someone had to be responsible.

I didn't know any of that then.

I only knew that something had changed.

And I didn't know what I was supposed to feel about it.

I wanted Chloe to be happy again. I wanted Mum to be happy. And when I was with Rea, there was something inside me that felt warm and safe.

But I never gave that feeling a name.

I couldn't.

Because some part of me was afraid that if I did, Chloe might think I had chosen Rea over her.

And I could never choose anyone over my sister.