Chapter 9 - THE NIGHT DAPHNE DISAPPEARED
There was a place outside Hendersonville where Daphne and I used to go when we were teenagers.
Not officially.
Our parents thought we were at friends’ houses.
It was an overlook above a narrow valley road.
Nothing dramatic.
A gravel pull-off.
Old wooden fence.
Mountains in the distance.
When Daphne was fifteen and convinced the world hated her, she made me drive her there at midnight because a boy did not text back.
When I was eighteen and terrified about leaving for college, I went alone.
Neither of us had mentioned the place in years.
I told Dad.
Police checked first.
No car.
Then Lucas and I drove toward the cottage.
Because there was another possibility.
Grandma’s place.
Daphne supposedly hated it.
But when we were children, before comparison became our family’s favorite sport, we loved summers there.
We slept in the same room.
Caught fireflies.
Made pancakes badly.
Fought over blankets.
Maybe some part of her remembered too.
The cottage door was unlocked.
I froze.
Lucas touched my arm.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Charlotte.”
“She’s my sister.”
“That is not a tactical qualification.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
We called Dad.
Then entered together.
The living room was dark.
Kitchen light on.
Daphne sat at the table.
Still wearing the cream sweater from family dinner.
A glass of water in front of her.
No alcohol.
Good.
Her phone lay powered off.
She looked up.
Of all possible reactions, she seemed annoyed.
“How did you know?”
I exhaled so hard my knees weakened.
“You are unbelievably predictable.”
Her face crumpled.
Then she started crying.
I did not rush toward her.
Not because I wanted punishment.
Because I needed to know what she wanted.
“Are you safe?”
She nodded.
“Do you plan to hurt yourself?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Clear.
Relief.
“I just wanted everyone to stop talking.”
Lucas stayed near the doorway.
I sat across from her.
“You scared Dad.”
“I know.”
“Mom?”
“I know.”
“Brandon?”
“I don’t care.”
Probably a lie.
“Wyatt?”
Her face broke.
“I can’t think about Wyatt.”
Fair.
I called Dad.
“She’s here.”
His breath collapsed through the phone.
“Safe?”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Silence.
Daphne looked at me.
I continued.
“Give us an hour.”
Dad understood.
“Okay.”
Growth.
I ended the call.
Daphne stared at the cottage.
“Grandma liked you more.”
Of course.
Here we were.
I almost laughed.
“She left me the cottage because I spent summers helping her after her hip surgery.”
“She left me cash.”
“Yes.”
“You got the sentimental thing.”
“You got eighty thousand dollars.”
Daphne wiped her face.
“I know.”
“Why are we doing this?”
She looked down.
“Because I don’t know who I am if I’m not angry at you.”
That shut me up.
Daphne’s voice shook.
“You were always the proof I was doing something wrong.”
“Grades.”
“Jobs.”
“Money.”
“Relationships.”
I started to speak.
She stopped me.
“I know that wasn’t your fault.”
Important.
She continued.
“But every time Mom compared us, even when she tried not to…”
I frowned.
“Mom compared us?”
“She would say ‘Charlotte never needed this much help.’”
My chest tightened.
Interesting.
To me, Mom said:
Daphne needs more help than you.
To Daphne:
Charlotte never needed this much.
We were both being used against each other.
Different damage.
Same system.
Daphne laughed through tears.
“So every time you had something good, part of me felt like I was losing another competition.”
“My wedding.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
“Why the cake?”
She thought.
Then gave the ugliest and most truthful answer yet.
“Because when everybody stood for you during the ceremony, I felt invisible.”
I stared.
“At my wedding.”
“I know.”
“You were maid of honor.”
“I know.”
“You gave a speech.”
“I know.”
“And you still felt invisible.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
There it was.
The hole.
No amount of attention could fill something built from comparison.
Daphne touched her stomach.
“Then I thought about the baby.”
“And?”
“Everyone would look at me.”
She started crying.
“I hate saying that.”
“Good.”
She looked up.
I softened.
“Not because I want you to hate yourself.”
“Because you need to hate what the behavior does.”
She nodded.
Then:
“I thought if they celebrated, I’d feel secure.”
“Did you?”
“For maybe ten seconds.”
Her face crumpled.
“Then Brandon walked in.”
I almost smiled.
“What did you think when you saw him?”
“That you hated me.”
“No.”
“I know that now.”
“Do you?”
“I think so.”
She touched the table.
“I booked the gender reveal here because I wanted another big thing.”
“At Willowridge.”
“Yes.”
“Why my venue?”
She closed her eyes.
“I liked it.”
I waited.
“And because it was yours.”
More truth.
“Jesus, Daphne.”
“I know.”
She started crying again.
I looked toward Lucas.
He remained quiet.
Letting sisters do the work.
“What do you want now?” I asked.
“I want Wyatt back.”
“Not available.”
She flinched.
“I want Brandon to love me.”
“Maybe he does.”
“He says he doesn’t trust me.”
“Reasonable.”
She nodded.
“I want Mom to fix it.”
“Not available anymore.”
Daphne laughed bitterly.
“So what is available?”
I looked at her.
“You.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“You have yourself.”
“That’s depressing.”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“It’s overdue.”
Silence.
“You are going to have a baby.”
“Yes.”
“That child cannot become the next person responsible for making you feel important.”
Daphne’s face went white.
I continued.
“Do not make motherhood the new spotlight.”
“Do not make the baby choose you over Brandon.”
“Do not make birthdays proof of love.”
“Do not punish your daughter if somebody else has a good day.”
Tears streamed down her face.
“I don’t want to be Mom.”
That surprised me.
I almost defended Mom automatically.
Then stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to love someone so much that I turn their worst habits into everybody else’s job.”
That was more insight than I expected.
Maybe pain finally made enough noise.
“I need therapy,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
She laughed.
Small.
Real.
Then:
“Will you come with me?”
“To therapy?”
“No.”
“Home.”
There it was.
A request.
Not assumption.
I thought.
“Yes.”
Her face softened.
“But not because you can’t go alone.”
“I know.”
“I’m coming because I want to.”
She nodded.
Difference.
We called Dad.
He arrived thirty minutes later.
He hugged Daphne.
Did not lecture.
Did not promise to fix.
Just:
“You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mom came too.
She cried.
Started to say:
“We’ll figure everything—”
Then stopped herself.
She looked at Daphne.
“You’ll figure it out.”
Daphne stared.
Then nodded.
Maybe that was the first real gift Mom had given her in years.
Not rescue.
Confidence.
As we prepared to leave, Daphne stopped me outside.
“Charlotte.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about your wedding.”
I waited.
No excuse followed.
No mention of excitement.
Pregnancy.
Fear.
Brandon.
Just:
“I knew you wanted one day.”
Her voice broke.
“And I took part of it because I couldn’t stand not being the center.”
My throat tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
This time, I believed she understood the sentence.
I hugged her.
Not because everything was fixed.
Because forgiveness did not require pretending nothing happened.
Then I pulled back.
“You still owe Hailey an apology.”
“The baker?”
“You lied to her too.”
Daphne almost smiled.
“Right.”
“And Wyatt.”
Her smile disappeared.
“I know.”
“And Brandon.”
“I know.”
“And Dad.”
“I know.”
“And Mom.”
She frowned.
“For what?”
“Give therapy a week.”
Lucas laughed from the car.
Daphne rolled her eyes.
For one second, we felt like sisters instead of contestants.
May you like
It was small.
It was enough for that night.
