Instalment 0005: The Sister Who Mastered Silence
She was always the softest one. The one I protected. The one I poured into. The one I felt safest with. We shared late-night stories, quiet griefs, whispered rage. I was her maid of honour. Her shoulder when things with her husband got rough. Her keeper when she needed a safe place to land. I thought she would be mine, too. But what I’ve come to realise is: silence doesn’t always mean safety. When everything fell apart—when our mother packed up and left our father in the middle of his travels, when it was decided without much discussion that my house would be the one to take him in—she didn’t speak up. Not to our mother. Not to our older sister. Not in the moment when it mattered most. She told me what was coming. She told me, “This will open up old wounds. You’ll recoil into your helpless child self.” And she was right. But she still let it happen.