Prologue #2
I swallowed hard, bit my tongue, and fought back tears that threatened to break free.
The sharp pings in my eye were from trying to hold back the waterfall that wanted to take over.
No, they couldn’t see me cry. I couldn’t allow them to see more weakness from me, they already had too much access as it was.
I focused on the bland food in front of me, hoping this terror of a day could end soon.
The conversation swirled back to Josephina after that, as though I’d vanished from the table altogether. Promotions, networking dinners, investments. My parents glowed with pride. I sat in the flicker of candlelight, smiling at the appropriate moments, nodding when expected.
But beneath the practiced mask, a hollow ache throbbed. A hunger I couldn’t name, only feel. Something missing, something wrong, something I couldn’t admit even to myself.
My eyes drifted toward Josephina, who caught my gaze and gave me the smallest of smiles—the kind that said I see you. I know this hurts. It helped. A little. But as the laughter rose around me, I felt like an imposter at my own family’s table.
I stood, brushing the crumbs from my lap, mumbling that I needed to get going.
The quiet of my apartment called me, a small sanctuary I could control.
Mother called something after me—some reminder about family obligations—but I tuned it out, forcing a smile and nod.
I’d told them that I was going on a retreat, but they hadn’t taken me seriously.
I wouldn’t be at whatever this thing was that she wanted me to attend.
I’d be off on my own trying to figure out who I truly was.
Josephina followed me into the hallway, her heels clicking softly against the tile. She fell into step beside me, lighter than usual, but her eyes held that familiar concern.
“You know,” she said gently, “you don’t have to keep everything bottled up.”
I stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” she said, tilting her head. Her brown eyes softened. “You’ve been hiding things… hiding yourself. When are you going to tell them? About… you? I'm your identical twin, I know everything. Them, on the other hand.” She used her head to motion toward our parents.
My heart stuttered. I froze mid-step, the keys in my hand suddenly heavy. “I… I don’t know if I can,” I admitted, voice quieter than I intended.
Josephina placed a reassuring hand on my arm. “It’s not about what they’ll think. It’s about being honest with yourself. You deserve to be seen, Sera. I know it’s scary… but hiding who you are is wearing you down.”
I looked at her, really looked, and saw no judgment, no disappointment—just care, the kind I craved but rarely received from the rest of the family. “I just… I can’t disappoint them,” I whispered.
“You’re not disappointing anyone by being yourself,” she said firmly. “And if they love you, they’ll adjust. And even if they don’t, you’ll always have me. You don’t have to face it alone.”
I nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. The words had landed, gentle but insistent, like a key turning in a lock I hadn’t realized was stuck. Maybe Josephina was right. Maybe I didn’t have to be invisible anymore.
But for now, I tucked the thought away, along with the ache of wanting to be fully seen. I stepped out into the crisp evening air, letting the door click shut behind me, Josephina’s quiet presence trailing a heartbeat behind.
The moment I stepped through my apartment door, the tight coil in my chest began to loosen. I kicked off my shoes, dragging off the long day with every motion, and let out a long, shaky breath.
I grabbed the small stuffed bear perched on the counter, holding it against my chest as I scooped a generous serving of ice cream into a mismatched mug. I sank into the couch, knees pulled up, and let the cold sweetness melt away the heat of tension still lingering in my shoulders.
When I finished, I changed into my favorite cartoon graphic t-shirt—bright, silly, and just slightly too big.
I pulled my hair into two playful pigtails, letting the strands flop over my shoulders, and tugged on a pair of long, clashing socks that came up past my knees.
A fleece blanket followed, draped around me like a protective cocoon.
Settling back into the couch, I hit play on a feel-good movie I’d watched a hundred times, the colors and laughter spilling across the screen.
My body relaxed in ways it hadn’t all day.
The stuffed bear rested against my stomach, the ice cream mug long empty, and I let myself smile at the ridiculousness of it all.
My gaze drifted toward the corner of the room, where my suitcase leaned against the wall, already packed for tomorrow’s adventure.
I stroked the handle of the mug absentmindedly.
Two months. Rawhide Ranch. Finally. The thought alone made the tension fade further, replaced by a thrill that tickled the base of my spine.
Tomorrow I’d be somewhere new, somewhere I could breathe, somewhere I didn’t have to play a role for anyone else.
Wrapped in my blanket, clutching my bear, I let myself sink into the quiet joy of my tiny, safe apartment. For a little while, at least, everything was exactly as it should be.