The secrets between us

The day everything changed

And as the phone rang again, sharp and unrelenting in the silence, I knew before I answered that everything was about to change.

The air outside the plane was cool, though the heaviness in my chest made it hard to draw a full breath. The sharp scent of jet fuel clung to the runway, and the night sky stretched endlessly overhead, yet I felt boxed in, suffocated by the weight of dread pressing down on me. I spotted the black sedan parked near the runway, its sleek frame illuminated by the faint glow of overhead lights. Mom had sent it, and even before I reached the door, the pit in my stomach deepened. Her voice had cracked when she called, a tremor that told me everything words couldn’t.

Michael was right behind me, his presence steady but strangely muted. My twin brother, usually the louder of the two of us, the one quick with a joke or a careless shrug, was quiet, too quiet. I glanced at him, expecting to see his usual indifference, but his jaw was tight, his eyes dark. Maybe he wasn’t saying anything because silence was the only thing keeping him from shattering.

I had half expected him not to come at all. Michael wasn’t one to confront pain directly. He buried it under distractions, women, alcohol, noise. The blonde at the hotel had seemed like his entire world just hours earlier, and a part of me thought he’d choose her over this flight. But here he was, walking in step with me, his silence heavier than any words. For all the ways we were different, he was still my other half.

The car door opened, and I slipped into the back seat. The leather was cool against my palms, grounding me for a moment. Across from me, Edward sat stiffly, his gaze fixed out the window, his reflection caught in the glass like a ghost. None of us spoke. The driver pulled away, and the airport fell behind us, swallowed by the darkness of the city.

The twenty-minute drive stretched into what felt like hours. The hum of the tires on asphalt blended with the rhythmic pounding of my heart. I kept clenching and unclenching my fists, willing my body to stop shaking. The closer we drew to the hospital, the more my stomach twisted. I told myself Dad would pull through, he had to. He was stronger than most men half his age, healthier too. He wasn’t supposed to be lying in a hospital bed. Not him.

By the time Richard swung the car into the ER parking lot, I could barely sit still. The fluorescent lights spilled across the asphalt like harsh daylight, unforgiving and clinical. I didn’t wait for the car to stop fully before jumping out. The night air was sharp against my face, and behind me, Michael’s door slammed shut. Richard muttered something about parking and catching up, but his voice faded as my legs carried me forward.

Inside, the sterile smell of disinfectant burned my nose. The walls were pale, the kind of blank color designed not to offend but somehow managing to make everything feel colder. I followed the directions given by a nurse, my pulse drumming in my ears. At the end of the hall, I spotted them Mom and Ann sitting close together in a private room.

Mom’s blonde hair framed her face in disarray, strands falling from the clip she had hurriedly thrown it into. Her eyes, normally so bright, were red-rimmed and swollen, tears glistening against pale cheeks. Beside her, Ann clung to her hand like a lifeline, her young shoulders trembling with sobs. A doctor stood in front of them, his white coat wrinkled, his posture tired.

The moment Mom’s gaze lifted and found mine, I didn’t need words. Her face crumpled, fresh tears spilling freely, and she rose to her feet with unsteady grace. Ann followed, breaking into a run, her sobs echoing off the walls.

Michael collided with me from behind as I froze in place. My throat locked. He whispered something, What is it? What’s wrong? but I couldn’t answer. My mother’s tears said everything.

Dad was gone.

The world seemed to tilt, and I gripped the doorframe for balance. The fluorescent light above flickered, the buzz loud in the silence that followed. Somewhere down the hall, a machine beeped, indifferent to the devastation unraveling in my chest.

***

We stayed at the hospital for hours, though time lost all meaning. I don’t remember the drive back to the brownstone, only the weight of silence pressing down on us in the car. The city lights blurred through the window, streaks of gold and red against the night. Home felt different the moment we stepped inside emptier, even though all of us were there.

Ann was still in high school, still just seventeen, and her world had cracked apart in a way that made my chest ache for her. She had been Dad’s princess. He’d driven her to school every morning despite his schedule, bought her flowers just because, sat through her plays even when her role was small. For Mom, she had been his queen. He never hid his love for her, whether it was a hand on the small of her back, a kiss on her forehead in the middle of the kitchen, or the way he still looked at her after twenty-five years of marriage. And for us, his sons, he had been a guidepost. Generous, firm, loving.

I poured Mom a drink, strong, though I hesitated as I handed it to her. She wasn’t a drinker, but her hands shook, her breathing shallow. She took it without protest, the glass trembling against her lips. She drank quickly, as though each swallow might quiet the storm inside her. Soon, exhaustion claimed her, and she fell asleep on the couch, the TV murmuring quietly in the background. I pulled a blanket over her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my chest tightening at how small she looked, curled into herself.

Ann had cried herself to sleep upstairs. When I peeked into her room, she was curled beneath her comforter, cheeks still damp. I stood there for a long moment, my hand on the doorframe, wishing I could shield her from this. But I couldn’t.

Upstairs on the third floor, I found Michael or rather, he found me. His door was open, the glow from the city pouring in through his window. He stood there, silhouetted against the skyline, shoulders tense, his hands buried in his pockets.

“Are they asleep?” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.

“Yes,” I said quietly, stepping beside him. “Tomorrow we’ll just… let it sink in. But after that I need you, Edward. We’ll have to handle things together.”

He nodded, his jaw tight. For once, he didn’t argue. “Of course. I’m just" He broke off, his voice cracking. “He was supposed to live longer than anyone. Both of them were.”

I swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in my eyes. Through the thick glass, the city sparkled as if nothing had changed. But everything had.

The day blurred together. The brownstone filled with people, friends of Dad’s, colleagues, neighbors all bringing food, flowers, condolences. Mom spent hours surrounded by them, their voices filling the air with stories and sympathetic murmurs. Ann escaped when she could, retreating to a friend’s house for a break from casseroles and whispered pity.

Dad had been prepared in ways I hadn’t realized. He’d left instructions for his funeral, every detail written out with precision. He wanted it at the Catholic church we’d attended as children, though none of us were practicing anymore. His faith had remained quietly steady, something he carried in his heart even if he didn’t wear it on his sleeve.

Michael and I went together to choose his coffin, the task heavy and surreal. We planned the service, selecting readings, music, and arranging the reception at the house with catering from his favorite restaurant. Each choice felt like both a betrayal and an act of love choosing in his absence what he would have wanted.

The day of the funeral stretched longer than any day I’d ever lived. The church was filled with faces, some familiar, others not, all of them touched by the man who had been my father. I sat in the front pew with Michael, my hand clenched into a fist against my knee, as priests spoke words I barely heard. The scent of incense clung to the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of flowers.

There were tears, yes, but also laughter. Friends stood to share stories of Dad, his kindness, his humor, his fierce loyalty. With each one, memories flickered in my mind, vivid and sharp, and I felt both broken and grateful.

Afterwards, back at the house, the rooms swelled with people. Glasses clinked, voices rose and fell, grief and joy colliding in waves. Michael and I stayed away from the beer, choosing instead to pour whiskey only after the last guest left. We sat side by side, passing the bottle between us in silence, numbness creeping in where pain had been.

When I finally collapsed into bed, the city was quiet outside, but my thoughts weren’t. Tomorrow we’d meet with the lawyer. Dad had made sure everything was in order, his finances, his will but I couldn’t shake the fear of what came next. Not the logistics, but the life.

Because no matter how prepared Dad had been, nothing could prepare us for a world without him.