She believed in me in a way no one else ever has and no one else ever will, and I betrayed her. The worse part is she doesn’t know. She still thinks…
…I’m her sweet baby brother.
Its been over 5 years since my parents got locked up. And though, I can vividly remember the night they were dragged out our house and cuffed in silver metal, I often try desperately not to relive it. However, sometimes I do still wonder how they made so much money disappear.
Unfortunately, when that money vanished my happiness did too. And the picture-perfect lavish lifestyle I was too young to appreciate. Not to mention the memories that could of been.
Because of their thievery I was robbed and forced to live a less than extraordinary life. In fact, it was less than ordinary. And worst of all it was without my sister, Shyla.
Though, to be fair she’s not my sister by blood. She’s just been there for as long as I can remember and was the only person in this world to actually see me. The only person in this world I actually wanted to be seen by.
Our parents went to college together, but had been friends for years prior to. Four best friends all going to the same prestigious university. Each destined to accomplish great things. Just as their parents did.
But after college things didn’t go quite as planned. While Shyla’s parents were able to find great jobs, get married and get pregnant all within the first couple years after graduation, my parents struggled. They couldn’t find great jobs. They didn’t have money to get married like they wanted to. And they were having problems getting pregnant.
Through it all, our parents stayed close, though. And her parents were very kind to mine. Even when Shyla was born, they still took the time to stand by my parents and share their tears during the many miscarriages they were subjected to.
Eventually, my parents did succeed at having a child. Four years and two weeks after Shyla’s birth I was born. My parents called me Jonah. Her parents called me the blessing. And she called me her sweet baby brother.
And as we grew up together, we did so as siblings. She supported me. I respected her. We loved each other. At some point, though, my parents started struggling to support the lifestyles in which they were accustomed to. And no matter how hard they tried to make an honest living, they were just unlucky.
It was that absence of luck that pushed my parents down a different path. One where shady business caused them to keep secrets from their closest friends. And it’s those secrets that pushed my honorary uncle and aunt down a different path as well. One that led to them leaving.
They could no longer bear bringing their daughter into a home with piles of money on the table and no explanation from which it came. So they fled and took the closet thing to me. My sister.
It happened when I was 10 and she was 14. I remember how hard we cried and how tightly we held one another. They had to pull us a part and ultimately had to stuff her into the back seat. And as they slammed the door shut, my heart shattered.
They came to me with a final kiss and hug, and though I hated them at that moment, I could still feel their love for me. I could feel how much they hurt…just like Shyla and I did. That didn’t make it any less painful for me, though.
As the years passed I noticed my parents began to look over their shoulders more and more. Eventually, the cops came knocking. Knocking so hard our front door flew right off the hinges as we all were forced to drop to our knees.
As they dragged my parents away, I could only watch the tears pour down their cheeks. I couldn’t even look them in the eyes. I could hear their whisper, too. They apologized. But I didn’t have any forgiveness in me.
A few years later, on my 17th birthday, I found out that I got into a great college. But that moment was outshined by another. On that same day I received a phone call. And as I picked up, a gasp managed to escape my lips. Because I recognized the voice that came through.
“Congradulations…my sweet baby brother.”
