Chapter 23
Khalee
I can’t say that the morning with my mom necessarily passed slowly, but the truth is that after the initial shock that my half-truth caused her, and after I had lifted the weight off myself, we managed to have a fairly adult conversation.
I even felt a bit bad that I hadn’t confided in her sooner.
Truth be told, I’ve never had anything to complain about with my parents.
They are the sweetest people in the world and have always done everything for me and Mada.
My mother, with her deep, dark skin and those warm hazel eyes that always seem to hold endless love, has been my rock in ways I never fully appreciated before.
My father, with his white skin, black hair, and that beautiful, reassuring smile, is the kind of man whose presence alone makes a room feel safe.
They are two halves of a whole, bound together not just by love but by faith, Christian Catholics through and through.
Their love story began within the very walls of the church. They met as young volunteers, dedicating their time to helping the community, and somewhere between prayers and service, they found each other.
My grandparents, though they are no longer with us, set the foundation of love that my parents have built their lives upon.
It was their example that shaped my mother and father into the people they are today.
Even now, despite decades of marriage, they still share soft caresses and fleeting glances that speak of an unbreakable bond because love, for them, is not just an emotion; it’s a testament of their faith, a daily act of devotion, and I can only wish to have a little bit of that one day.
It’s after lunch that I find myself on the sofa with my father, and although I know he senses that something is going on, just like my mom, he doesn’t press.
Instead, he tells me about the new cross-border expedition they both went on with the church.
Their eyes light up as they show me the photographs of the work they’ve done with the children there, and I can’t help but feel immensely proud of them.
Ever since they adopted us, we’ve always known them this way. The difference is that now they risk going further than the poorest neighborhoods where they used to volunteer and take us with them. After all, we’re grown up now and don’t need them as much as we once did.
As I sit there, watching the excitement in my father’s expression and the tender way my mother places her hand on his arm as he talks, I realize something.
I have spent so much of my life holding back from them, keeping my distance as if love could ever suffocate me. But maybe, just maybe, it’s time to let them in. To let them love me in the way they always have, without conditions, without fear.
“I think you would love doing something like this, sweetheart,” my father says, his voice warm and encouraging, pulling me back into the conversation.
“Maybe I should,” I admit, the words slipping out before I have time to second-guess them.
He nods, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe you should, indeed. Helping others heal often has a way of healing us, too.”
“Your father is right, baby girl,” my mom chimes in, her hazel eyes soft with nostalgia. “You were always so full of life when we visited those schools, delivering supplies to the kids. You glowed with happiness.”
I let out a small chuckle. “I remember that. It was fun. But honestly, I don’t think I fully understood why we were doing it at the time. Back then, after spending so much time in the orphanage, always surrounded by other kids, coming home to just the four of us felt… lonely.”
My father tilts his head, his smile tinged with something deeper. “We know. That’s why we made sure you had those experiences. You thrived when you were with others, teaching, and sharing. You don’t even realize how much joy you brought to those children.”
I blink, caught off guard. “That’s… surprising,” I say, my voice quieter now.
I had never really thought about it that way.
My dad chuckles, shaking his head. “Why? Just because your mother and I respected your space and never pushed you beyond your comfort zone doesn’t mean we weren’t paying attention. We always saw you, sweetheart. We always knew how much you loved being part of something bigger than yourself.”
His words settle deep in my chest, and I chew on my bottom lip, glancing between them. “Then why did we stop doing it so much?”
My parents exchange a glance, one laden with hesitation, as if confirming with each other whether they should speak the truth.
My father sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before meeting my gaze.
“Because, sweetheart, as much as those experiences were wonderful for you, they weren’t easy for Mada,” he admits gently.
I frown. “Mada?”
My mom nods, her eyes filled with a tenderness that almost makes me uneasy. “You never sought to be the center of attention, Khalee, and yet you were. It was effortless for you. You helped, you gave, you shared, all without expecting anything in return. But your sister… she struggled with that.”
My stomach twists, guilt creeping in despite not fully understanding. “I never meant to, ”
“We know you didn’t,” my father interrupts, his voice firm but kind.
“That was just who you were, who you are. But Mada reacted differently to being around so many other children. I believe her experiences before we got her weren’t similar to yours.
She wasn’t comfortable with their presence the way you were.
It was overwhelming for her, and, well, we had to make a decision.
We started pulling back from those activities for her sake. ”
I stare at them, processing this revelation. It makes sense in a way I hate to admit. “So you stopped… for her?”
My mom nods again. “At first, yes. And then, as you both got older, life happened. School, extracurricular activities, and teenage distractions all became a choice, and eventually, neither of you pushed to go back. And we didn’t insist.”
A strange sadness settles over me, not out of resentment, but out of loss.
A part of my life I hadn’t even realized had been quietly taken away.
Not maliciously, not cruelly, just… naturally, because sometimes love means making sacrifices we don’t always see.
“I wish I had known,” I murmur. “She was always so full of life. And the memories I have… she seemed to have fun.”
“I think that sometimes, she did.” My mother reveals. “But not as much as you think.”
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know her at all, even though she is my sister.”
“That’s because you don’t.” The voice is firm, cutting through the air like a blade.
My body stiffens at the sound of it.
I hadn’t even noticed Mada entering the house, but there she is, standing in the doorway, her gaze locked onto me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.
No one heard her come in.
My mother quickly rises from her chair and moves toward her. “Mada, baby, ” she begins, reaching out to press a kiss to her cheek, and my sister allows it, standing stiff, while her eyes never leave mine.
There’s something in them, something sharp and unreadable, as if my very presence in this house is unwelcome.
She walks toward me, her movements slow and deliberate, before lowering herself onto the couch beside me.
Still, she doesn’t break eye contact. It’s unnerving.
Up close, I take her in, really take her in.
She’s always been beautiful, striking even, with her pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and full lips, but now there’s something different about her. A hollowness around her hazel eyes, the faintest tremor in her fingers as she pushes her hair back.
Her skin, though still smooth, looks sallow under the warm lights of the living room, and the dark circles beneath her eyes suggest she hasn’t slept properly in a long time. There’s a dullness to her, as though the life inside her is dimming, slipping through cracks she can no longer seal.
She exhales deeply, resting an elbow on her knee, and I notice the way she taps her fingers against her arm, restless, jittery.
A nervous energy hums beneath her skin, barely restrained.
“What brought you home?” she finally asks, her voice quieter than I expected, but laced with something bitter.
There’s an edge to it.
She looks worn, frayed at the edges like a threadbare cloth.
I swallow hard, unsure of what to say, because the way she says it… It’s not a welcome. It’s an accusation.
“Mom and Dad are back, and… I decided just to visit them.”
My voice is even, but there’s also an edge to it. Two can play this game.
Manners be damned.
Mada doesn’t break eye contact.
Her stare is intense, filled with something volatile, resentment, exhaustion, or maybe something more dangerous. Her knee bounces as if her body is vibrating with an energy she can’t contain, her fingers tapping rapidly against her thigh now.
There’s a rawness to her that I can’t ignore, a hollowness that clings to her features.
“I’m so happy to have you both home, babies. Let’s get some cookies, Michael. Maybe we can watch a movie together, just like old times?” My mother’s voice is filled with warmth, eager to bring us back to something familiar, something safe.
I don’t have the heart to refuse. My mind briefly drifts to Kaze, but he knows where to find me if he truly needs me.
He was able to do it before, so…
Right now, I’m wrapped in the comforting presence of my parents, a feeling I didn’t realize I missed. So I decide to stay for a while.
Mada, though, doesn’t seem happy with the proposition.
She forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
Her jaw tightens, and she exhales sharply, her hand running through her tangled hair with a frustration that seems to have no real direction.
Before our parents can notice, they’re already off to the kitchen, excited about their nostalgic attempt to bring us together.
And just like that, I’m left alone in the living room with a sister who feels like a stranger.