What I wanted to say was, I’m hurting too.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I learned to stay quiet.
Talking about Ella felt like setting off a bomb in the middle of the room. So I swallowed my questions and carried them inside me.
I grew up that way.
On the outside, I was fine. I did well in school, had friends, stayed out of trouble.
But inside, there was a constant buzzing emptiness where my sister should have been.
When I was sixteen, I finally tried to break the silence.
I went to the police station alone, my palms sweaty.
