Sweet Siblings

THE MISSING NOTE

The morning light filtered through the kitchen window, casting soft shadows on the table where breakfast was already set. The house was unusually quiet—no chatter, no movement, just the eerie stillness that crept over the walls. Rui and Lucy sat at the table, stirring their coffee absentmindedly, each lost in her own thoughts.

Their father entered the room, dressed in his usual suit, ready for another busy day at his company. His presence always seemed to fill the space, yet today, something felt off. The air was heavier, like there was an unspoken tension simmering just below the surface.

"Where's May?" their father asked casually, glancing around as if she might pop up at any moment.

Rui shrugged, not looking up from her coffee. "Probably still in bed. She always sleeps in after performances."

Lucy snorted. "Probably sulking. She can't take any joke, can she?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but even she didn't sound as convinced as usual. The sting of her own words from last night lingered in the back of her mind, but she quickly brushed it off. May was always emotional—it wasn't anything new.

Their father raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "She better not be skipping breakfast again. It's important to keep up appearances. We have a schedule to maintain."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Dad, she'll be fine. Probably just having one of her episodes." She took a sip of her coffee, but it didn't taste as good as usual. There was something unsettling about the quietness of the house. Normally, May would already be up, making noise, or complaining about something trivial.

Rui glanced at the empty chair where May usually sat. She said nothing, but there was a faint unease gnawing at her. As much as she struggled to express her emotions, she could feel that something was off today.

Their father moved toward the front door, ready to leave for the day when he spotted something on the floor. His eyes narrowed as he bent down to pick it up—a small piece of paper, hastily folded, lying just by the threshold. His heart sank a little as he unfolded it, but his face remained stoic.

'I'm sorry. I can't stay here anymore. I need to find myself. Don't worry about me.'

For a moment, he said nothing. The words on the page blurred, and a heavy silence fell over the room. He stared at the note, his hand tightening around it as if crushing the paper would make it all go away. His chest tightened, but he quickly buried the feeling beneath layers of ego and pride.

Lucy glanced over at him, noticing his change in posture. "What's that?" she asked, her voice laced with casual curiosity.

"May's gone," their father said, his voice calm but cold.

The words hung in the air like a bomb that hadn't quite gone off yet. Rui and Lucy both froze, their eyes darting to their father's face, trying to gauge if he was serious.

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" Lucy asked, her voice faltering slightly. She stood from the table, walking over to where he stood, staring at the crumpled note in his hand.

He handed it to her without a word. Lucy's eyes scanned the brief message, her expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. "She just... left?"

Rui stood as well, her heart pounding in her chest as she reached for the note. She read it quickly, but the words felt distant, unreal. May had run away? Just like that? A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down, unable to express the storm of emotions brewing inside her.

"I'm sure she'll be back," Lucy said quickly, tossing the note onto the table as if it didn't matter. "She's always been dramatic. She's probably just trying to get attention."

But her voice lacked its usual confidence, and even she could feel the hollow ring of her own words. Deep down, there was a knot of guilt, a tight twist in her stomach that told her this wasn't just another one of May's outbursts.

Their father remained silent, his gaze fixed on the note. He was a man of ego, someone who had built his life around control—control of his career, his image, his family. But in this moment, that control was slipping through his fingers, and it terrified him.

May's absence felt like a crack in the perfect image he had worked so hard to maintain. He was supposed to be the strong one, the guiding force, but now, with her gone, there was nothing to guide. Nothing to fix. And the thought of that gnawed at him.

"She'll be back," he said finally, his voice flat. "She just needs time to cool off."

Rui wanted to believe him, but the tightness in her chest wouldn't go away. She knew May—knew her better than anyone gave her credit for. And this didn't feel like a temporary tantrum. This felt different.

Their father turned away from the girls, pacing the length of the living room. His mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. He should be angry—furious, even. But instead, all he felt was a deep, hollow emptiness. May had always been the sensitive one, the emotional one. But she was still his daughter.

And now she was gone.

His gaze drifted to a framed photo on the mantle—a picture of the whole family, taken years ago, back when his wife was still alive. She had always been the glue that held them together. He could still see her smile, her hand resting on May's shoulder, her eyes filled with warmth and love.

He missed her. More than he ever let on. After she passed away, he had thrown himself into his work, into the company, trying to bury the grief under the weight of responsibility. But in doing so, he had distanced himself from his daughters—especially May.

A wave of regret washed over him, but he pushed it aside, refusing to let it show. There was no room for weakness, not now. He had to stay strong, had to keep everything together. That's what a father was supposed to do.

But in the quiet of the house, with May gone and the memory of his wife lingering in the corners of his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed. Failed as a father, failed to protect the family that his wife had so lovingly built.

Lucy crossed her arms, leaning against the kitchen counter, her expression tight. "Dad, she's going to come back, right?" Her voice wavered, and for the first time, she didn't sound so sure of herself.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked at her—really looked at her, at the sharpness in her eyes, the defensiveness in her posture. He saw pieces of himself in her, the way she masked her uncertainty with arrogance, the way she pushed people away before they could hurt her. He had always admired her strength, but now he wondered if he had missed the vulnerability beneath it.

"I don't know, Lucy," he said quietly, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it before. "I don't know."

Rui, standing in the doorway, watched her father with a mixture of sadness and understanding. He was struggling—just like all of them were. But for once, the cracks in his armor were starting to show. And for the first time in a long while, she saw him not as the confident, commanding figure he always tried to be, but as a man who was lost without the woman he loved, and now, without the daughter he hadn't known how to love.

And in that shared silence, the weight of May's absence settled heavily on them all.

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