***Alexis Montenegro's POV***
People think being the youngest means getting away with everything.
They're not wrong.
But it doesn't feel like winning when the price is your sister's pain.
I remember the sound of the plate hitting the floor. I remember freezing.
Not because I was scared of the plate, or of Mom.
I froze because I knew what was coming.
I should've spoken up.
I should've said, "It was me."
But the words stuck. My throat locked. And by the time I opened my mouth, Vanessa had already taken the blame.
Again.
I watched her body flinch with every hit of the cane. I heard her breathing through the pain, trying not to scream. Trying not to give Mom the satisfaction.
Later, I found her on the bedroom floor with a wet cloth pressed to her back.
She didn't look at me.
I said thank you.
She didn't answer.
And honestly? I wouldn't have, either.
It's always been like this.
Vanessa protects everyone.
Even from our own mother.
Especially from her.
She's the one who cooks when Mom's "too tired."
She's the one who tells Alex to keep quiet when he's about to talk back and get slapped.
She's the one who hides our bad grades so we don't get grounded—or worse.
But no one thanks her for it.
Not Mom. Not Alex. Not even me.
Because it's easier to pretend she's strong enough to take it.
Even when she's not.
After she started at her new school, something changed.
She didn't talk much. She smiled less.
But there was this weird hope around her. Like maybe—just maybe—things could get better somewhere else.
I wanted to ask her about her day.
I wanted to tell her I was sorry for the plate. For freezing.
But the words never came.
Just like that day.
Then she started writing more in her diary. Hiding it under her pillow. Locking the door.
I think she thinks we don't notice.
But I notice.
I see the way she stares at the ceiling at night, like she's somewhere else entirely.
I hear her whisper a name sometimes.
Alexis.
Not me.
The other one.
At first, I hated him.
That boy with my name.
What gave him the right to matter to her more than I did?
But then I realized that he was her way out.
Even if just emotionally.
He was a door she hadn't slammed shut yet. One she still hoped might open.
I couldn't be mad at that.
Because I'd closed mine the moment I stayed silent.
The truth is, I don't know how to fix it.
I can't undo what I didn't say.
I can't make her trust me again with words that should've come long ago.
But I can try to be braver next time.
I can stand beside her, even if I was too scared to stand in front of her that day.
And maybe, one day, when she forgives me and that's if she forgives me.
I'll be more than her shadow.
***Vanessa's POV***
The note stayed under my pillow for three days.
I couldn't bring myself to tear it, burn it, or even hide it. It just sat there—mocking me. A warning, a threat, or maybe a test.
"You think you can trust him? Think again. He's lying to you. Stay away from Alexis before it's too late."
The words echoed in my mind during class, during meals, during those quiet moments when the house went still and all I could hear was my own thoughts.
I wanted to believe it wasn't true. That whoever wrote it was jealous or bitter or just trying to mess with my head. But deep down, I also knew I hadn't asked Alexis everything. I hadn't even scratched the surface of who he really was.
And trust, no matter how it starts, only goes so far without truth.
At school, Alexis acted like nothing had happened. He passed me a note in math class that just said:
"Library after school? I found a book you'd like."
I stared at the note.
A month ago, I would've smiled.
Now I just folded it, stuck it into my notebook, and kept my eyes down.
The thing is, I wanted to see him. I wanted to ask him straight out: What are you hiding?
But fear held me still. Fear of the answer. Fear of what it might change.
At lunch, I sat under the tree near the sports block—my new hiding spot. A few students walked past, some glanced my way, but no one stopped.
I wasn't invisible anymore, but I wasn't seen either.
"Mind if I sit here?"
I looked up. It was Mayra—one of the girls from English class. Always had a ribbon in her hair and a question on her lips.
"Sure," I said, a little surprised.
She sat cross-legged beside me, unwrapping a sandwich. "You and Alexis are close, huh?"
I blinked. "What makes you say that?"
She shrugged. "He never talks to anyone, but he talks to you. And that cake thing last week? Legendary."
I smiled faintly.
"But... just be careful," she added, more quietly. "A lot of people say things about him. Some true, some not."
I hesitated. "What kind of things?"
She glanced around. "You know about his mom, right?"
I nodded slowly.
"There's more," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "Some say he used to date Rose. That something happened between them. And then… well, you've seen how she treats you."
My fingers tightened around my lunchbox. "Do you believe it?"
Mayra hesitated. "I think people carry things they don't say. And sometimes, silence hides more than lies."
That line stayed with me long after lunch ended.
After school, I didn't go to the library.
I couldn't.
Instead, I walked home alone again, feet dragging, thoughts heavy.
When I reached the gate, I saw Alexis,my brother sitting on the steps, arms folded, head down.
He looked up as I approached, eyes full of something like guilt.
"Hey," he said.
I opened the door without answering.
He followed me in, quietly.
Once inside, I turned to him. "Why did you do it?"
He didn't ask what I meant. He knew.
"I don't know," he said softly. "I panicked."
"You let me take the blame."
"I know."
"You let Mom beat me like I was nothing."
"I'm sorry."
I stared at him. For a second, I wanted to shout. To throw something. To make him feel just an ounce of what I had felt.
But I didn't.
Instead, I sat down, exhausted.
"You're not a bad person," I said. "But you made a bad choice. And you need to stop hiding behind me when things go wrong."
He nodded. "I want to do better."
I believed him.
Because I needed to believe someone in this house still had hope.
That night, I finally wrote in my diary again.
"Dear Diary,
I don't know who I can trust. I don't know what's true and what's rumor. But I know this:
I'm tired of running from the truth.
I need to talk to him.
I need to know what really happened."
The next day, I skipped lunch and waited in the library.
At first, I thought he wouldn't come.
Then I saw his silhouette through the glass, moving slowly between the shelves.
When he spotted me, his face lit up—briefly.
"Hey," he said, sliding into the chair across from me.
"Hey."
He pulled a book from his bag. "You'll like this. It's about a girl who gets lost in a forest of memories. Sounds cheesy, but it's deep."
I didn't touch the book.
Instead, I looked him in the eye.
"Why didn't you tell me about Rose?"
He blinked, taken off guard.
"She told me something happened," I continued. "That you hurt her. That she fell."
He looked down at the table. "I never pushed her."
"But you didn't stop it."
"No."
"Why?"
His fingers tightened around the book. "Because I was angry. Broken. And when she fell, I froze. It was like… my brain shut off. And when I finally came back, it was too late. She was on the ground. And I walked away because I didn't know how to fix it."
The library was silent around us, but my heart was pounding.
"She said you used to love her," I whispered.
"I thought I did. Or maybe I just didn't want to be alone."
I nodded slowly. "And now?"
He looked at me. Really looked.
"I don't want to lie to you, Vanessa. You don't deserve that. I've made mistakes. Big ones. But when I'm with you... I feel like I can start again."
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"Someone left a note in my room," I said. "They wanted to scare me. To turn me away from you."
His jaw tightened. "Was it Rose?"
"I don't know. But I want to find out."
He reached across the table, slowly, carefully like I might flinch.
I didn't.
His fingers brushed mine.
"Whatever happens," he said, "we face it together."
I nodded. "Together".
But deep down, I knew something was coming.
And not everyone wanted us to survive it.
Not Rose.
Not whoever left that note.
And maybe not even fate.