Loved You Best When You Kept Omertà

The day the family assignment letter arrived at the estate, I learned that I would be the only one going to Chicago. When we were filling out our preference forms, Marco told me, "Sofia's choosing that track too. I'll go with you both—we can look out for each other." I believed him completely. Ever since I was little, my father thought I was too stubborn. My stepmother doted on Sofia. My younger brother Luca only ever called her his sister. My birthdays were forgotten. My room was taken over. Even when I ranked first in the family academy, my father would only say, "Don't put too much pressure on your sister." Only Marco would stand by me when I was overlooked, telling me he'd always be on my side. In the family group chat, Luca's excited voice message rang out. "Now Sofia and Marco can be together every day!" I stared at the two screenshots of the Manhattan assignments, my eyes burning. Outside the study, Sofia's voice drifted in. "Do you think my sister will be mad at you?" Marco was silent for a moment. "She's stronger than you. She'll figure it out on her own." "I'll stay in Manhattan to look after you first. Once you're settled, I'll explain it to her." So my four years and my feelings were just something he could put off and make up for later. I clutched the assignment letter destined for Chicago and suddenly felt that the wind there must be very strong. Strong enough to blow me far, far away from these people—so far they'd never see me again. ... I didn't push open the study door. Sofia's voice was light, "What if my sister really gets angry?" Marco said, "She's always been more resilient than you. She won't stay angry forever." "Once she's in Chicago, she'll come around in a while." Because I could take it. So I was the one whose birthday was forgotten. The one whose room was taken. The one told not to study too hard. And of course, I was the one left behind in Chicago. I turned and went back to my room, tucking the assignment letter into my bag. At the very bottom lay a confirmation slip for overseas special training. My advisor had handed it to me in my junior year, saying it was an independent program run jointly by the family and an overseas institution. The early phase would be closed-base training, followed by field assignments. The duty station and file information would only be accessible to the program team and authorized contacts. I had received both the Manhattan offer and the special training slot. A regular report would send me to Manhattan. Confirming the training meant my first three years would be spent at the base. I'd never signed that confirmation slip. I'd wanted to talk it over with Marco. I'd even considered turning down the training for the sake of our three-person plan. Not anymore. When I got back to my room, Sofia was crouched in front of my closet, organizing her clothes. She was hanging her dresses in the section I used most. On my desk sat her Manhattan offer letter, along with a list Marco had made for her. When she saw me, her hand was still on the closet door. "Sis, you're back." "Mom said you're leaving for Chicago soon, and your room would just sit empty. I thought since Manhattan is close to home, I could come back on weekends, so I put a few things here first..." I said nothing. Just looked at her. That desk was the one my father had built for me with his own hands on my tenth birthday. He'd worked late into the night, cut his finger on a screw, but still smiled and patted my head. "Our Elena's going to take on big responsibilities someday. She'll need a lot of paperwork—so she's got to have a big desk." After my mother died, the question I dreaded most was, "Where's your mom?" In third grade, a classmate called me a motherless child and threw my backpack in the trash. I hid in the bathroom stall and cried, too afraid to go back to class. Marco got my bag back and chased those kids away. He was only ten too, with scratches on the back of his hand from the fight, but he stood in front of me, fierce as a little wolf. Later, my father came on his motorcycle to pick me up and bought us two bowls of hot noodle soup. I cried and asked, "Dad, if I don't have a mom, does that mean nobody will like me?" My father stroked my head and said, "Who says that? You have me. Dad will always like Elena." I was so happy eating that soup that day. But eventually, my father and Marco both forgot the promises they'd made. "Sis?" Sofia called out again, her eyes reddening. "Are you upset? If you are, I'll take my things out..." Her words said one thing, but her hand never left the closet door. My father came in with a fruit plate. When he saw Sofia standing by my wardrobe, he frowned immediately. "Elena, are you giving Sofia a hard time again?" "I didn't say anything." "You didn't have to." He set the fruit plate down. "Your face is enough. Sofia's sensitive. Stop making her feel like she's unwanted here." Unwanted. That word should have belonged to Sofia. But four years later, the one who felt like an outsider was always me. Sofia had been in our house for four years and still called my father "Don Vittorio." The more she acted like an outsider, the more desperate my father was to prove this family hadn't treated her unfairly. Caterina walked in to smooth things over. "Vittorio, don't talk to Elena like that. She lost her mother young, so it's natural she's a bit tough." "Elena, Sofia's just storing a few things here. You're the older sister. Be gracious. She's already nervous about her new position—don't let family matters upset her." Always the same. She'd speak as if she were defending me, while making me look like the unreasonable one. I was tired. "Fine," I said. "She can put her things wherever she wants." "That's more like it." My father didn't ask about my assignment letter. Didn't ask about Chicago. Didn't ask if I was scared to go so far alone. Because they'd already decided the answer for me. Elena isn't afraid. Elena can handle it. Elena should give in. I opened my drawer and took out the special training confirmation form. [If you confirm early reporting, please keep your communication line open within seven days and await designated assembly notification.] I pressed confirm. [Elena, your early reporting request has been submitted.] Sofia was still discussing with my father whether to add a new storage cabinet next to my desk. My father nodded. "Fine. Elena's going to Chicago anyway, she won't be back much." I smiled. Yeah. Won't be back much. Might as well not come back at all.