The things we never had

Chapter 7

We walked into my room, and I watched Grey pull out his phone, pairing it with something. Curiosity got the best of me, and I asked, "What are you pairing your phone to?"

"The speaker," he replied.

"The speaker?" I exclaimed, suddenly intrigued. "What speaker?"

He laughed softly, then pointed to a speaker tucked away in the corner of the room, something I hadn't even noticed. "It's called Soph's Speaker," he explained.

"Grey," I asked, puzzled, "why do I have a speaker in my room if I was taken when I was three? And how was my room set up so quickly?"

Grey smiled sadly and responded softly, "No one ever really got over you two going missing. It's strange... I always dreamed of you guys coming back. I used to wish for it every year when I blew out my birthday candles. Actually, I still do," he chuckled softly. "It never felt like you were really gone because there was never a body, a funeral, or a grave. It always just felt like you guys were on a long trip."

"Oh "I said I didn't know what else to say. It's not every day something like this happens. A TED Talk on this would be amazing, I thought as we continued to pack away my clothes in silence, just listening to Grey's playlist. It was eerily similar to mine, so that was nice. But then, I broke the quiet and asked, "Why doesn't Rome like us?"

Grey sighed before replying. "I don't know. His mental health deteriorated after both of you were kidnapped. He was diagnosed with depression seven months later. He was fine before that—happy, friendly, kind. Mum used to call him her 'ray of sunshine.' But after a few days of realizing you guys weren't coming back, it's like a switch flipped. He became moody, angry, sad—a shell of who he was. It got really bad, and that's when they diagnosed him. He's been fighting it for 10 years now. He takes pills when it gets really bad, but he doesn't like them. He says they make him feel dead, numb. He prefers to be off them—at least then, he can feel, you know?"

"I think it's hard for him. I know he's happy, but I think he's scared it might happen again, and he doesn't want to go through that mental pain again. I don't blame him. I was too young to fully understand what had happened. Christian rarely talks about how he felt, but I think last year he just cracked. We have this sort of anniversary—the date you went missing and the date you were presumed dead. On the anniversary of your disappearance, Christian was drinking. He got drunk. He's the oldest, so he remembers the clearest out of all of us siblings.

I remember walking into his office, not realizing he was in there. He was drunk, and he started talking—or more like rambling—about how hard it's been. He said he wanted to believe you were alive and well, but deep down, he knew that was impossible, especially in our day and age, especially with girls. I'm sure you know what he was afraid might have happened. He kept saying 'his baby girl,' and he thought of you being raped, tortured... He was being realistic, and he started to cry, saying he just wanted you back. He'd do anything to get both of you back. It's the most emotion he's shown in a long time."

"Mum would lock herself up in their room on those dates, and Dad would go through the case files again and again, trying to find anything, but he'd always come up empty. Christian, on the other hand, would behave normally, though there were quite a few arguments about that. I don't know—it was weird. Enzo told me that during the first year, Mum was just crying and drinking all the time, 24/7. Dad would work and drink, so Christian had to take care of us. He never really lost that paternal role, you know? When Mum and Dad would shut down, he stepped in to take care of us. When they basically went MIA for that year, he made sure we were okay.

I don't think he's ever fully grieved or moved on. He's still stuck in the past—I can see it in his eyes. Every time he walks into a room, there's this flicker of hope, like maybe he's just wishing you guys would appear and everything would be okay. But of course, that never happened, and each time, you could see the light in his eyes dim a little. He never got over it."