The Unresolved Rift

Alisia bounded out of her classroom, a bounce in her step as she clutched the results of her math test. She had scored higher than anyone else, and for a twelve-year-old, that meant the world. Today had been one of those rare perfect days at school: no embarrassing moments, praise from teachers, and the joy of acing her assignments. Everything seemed to be going right.

As Alisia walked home, her excitement about the school day dulled by the thought of facing him again. She dreaded going home—not because of her father, but because of him. Her brother.

As her sneakers crunched on the autumn leaves scattered across the sidewalk, her thoughts drifted back to that day, the day everything shifted between them.

It had started over something so stupid—cake. A stupid piece of cake.

Her brother had baked it, spending hours in the kitchen, excited to indulge in his favorite dessert after a long week of work and school. She had been excited too. That cake had looked amazing. It had been sitting there in the fridge, its layers thick and decadent, practically begging to be eaten. So, Alisia had helped herself to a slice. Just one tiny slice. What was the harm?

Apparently, there was plenty of harm.

He'd walked into the kitchen, expecting his perfect cake to be untouched, only to find a small, messy slice missing from the edge. And that was it. The explosion.

"What the hell, Alisia?" he'd yelled, his voice full of sharp anger she hadn't expected. "That was my cake! You couldn't wait? You couldn't ask?!"

She'd been shocked, freezing in place with the fork still in her hand. Sure, maybe she should have asked first, but it was just cake. It was something she'd taken without thinking, not realizing how important it was to him. But instead of apologizing, she'd been defensive. His yelling had set her off.

"It's just cake!" she'd yelled back, her cheeks flushed red. "I didn't think you'd freak out over something so dumb!"

"Dumb?" His face had turned red with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides. "You always do this! You just take things, Alisia, and don't care about anyone else's stuff!"

He had never talked to her like that before. Sure, they'd had their share of sibling arguments—what brother and sister didn't? But this was different. This was personal, and it hurt.

Things escalated from there.

She didn't remember all the words they'd thrown at each other, but they had both been mean, too mean. Her brother, normally patient and easygoing, had been so mad that he'd gone as far as to spank her. At twelve, Alisia considered herself too old for such punishment, and being hit, even in a small way, felt like the ultimate betrayal. They had nearly come to blows, her hand raised in anger to shove him back, before their father had stepped into the room to separate them.

"What's going on in here?" their father had asked, his deep voice cutting through the tension. He had grabbed her wrist gently but firmly before the situation could spiral further out of control. "That's enough from both of you."

But it wasn't enough. Not really. Even though they hadn't fought again after that day, there was still that unspoken anger simmering between them. Her brother had barely talked to her since, and whenever they did interact, the conversation was stiff, awkward.

That fight had created a rift, a crack that wasn't healing. And every time she thought about it, it made her stomach churn.

Maybe she'd been wrong to take the cake without asking. Maybe she should have just apologized. But his reaction—the way he yelled at her—was something she couldn't let go.

She tried to imagine what she might say to break the ice. Apologizing first seemed impossible—why should she apologize? He had been the one to overreact.

But no matter how she rehearsed the conversation in her mind, it always ended the same way: with silence or more fighting.

When she finally arrived at their small suburban house, she saw her father sitting in the living room. He looked distant, his eyes hollow, staring into the space in front of him like he wasn't really there. Alisia paused at the doorway, her previous irritation melting into confusion.

"Dad? What's wrong? Did you see a ghost or something?" she teased, forcing a small smile.

Her father looked up at her slowly, his face crumpling under the weight of something she couldn't understand yet. He tried to smile back, but it faltered. "Alisia... come sit down," he said quietly, his voice shaky.

A cold chill shot through her, the smile dropping from her face. Her father never sounded like this—never looked like this. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. She stepped forward, her school bag slipping from her shoulder, forgotten on the floor.

"Where's David?" she asked, her heart thudding against her ribs. "What happened?"

Her father closed his eyes for a moment, as if bracing himself. He opened them again, but he couldn't meet her gaze. "There was... there was an accident," he began, his voice tight with grief. "Your brother... David—"

Alisia froze. Time seemed to stop. Her father's voice faded into the background, and all she could hear was the deafening sound of her own heartbeat.

"No," she whispered, stepping back, shaking her head. "No, you're lying. He—he's fine. He's probably just at work, right? He always comes back late, you know that."

Her father's face crumpled, and he reached out to her, but she stepped away again, the denial rising like bile in her throat.

"He was off duty," her father continued, his voice barely a whisper. "He... he was helping during a standoff with some criminals. He saved two kids... but he—"

Alisia couldn't breathe. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Her brother couldn't be gone. He was the strongest person she knew, always there, always fighting, always winning. He couldn't just be... gone.

"He was shot, Alisia. They... they tried everything, but by the time they got him to the hospital, it was too late."

Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the couch, her vision blurring with tears that wouldn't stop coming. She didn't cry often. Even when she was upset, she bottled things up, keeping them hidden. But now, the floodgates opened, and she couldn't control it.

David—her brother, her hero—was gone.

Images flashed through her mind: him teasing her, them fighting over silly things, the way he'd ruffle her hair no matter how much she protested. The last thing she had said to him, just before their fight, echoed in her ears: "I hate you!"

And now, she couldn't take it back.

Her father sat beside her, pulling her into his arms. But she barely felt it. The world was crashing down around her, and she was powerless to stop it. The house that had once felt so full, so warm, was now a hollow shell. A place where David's laughter would never fill the air again.

"I should've... I should've talked to him," she choked out between sobs. "We were fighting and—and I didn't even say sorry. He was so mad at me."

Her father stroked her hair, his own grief hanging in the air between them. "It wasn't your fault, Alisia," he whispered. "He loved you more than anything. You know that, don't you?"

But her father's words couldn't reach her. The guilt, the regret—it was too much. She had been angry over something as stupid as a slice of cake, and now, he was gone. Forever.

That night, as she lay in her bed, the weight of her brother's absence pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket. She clutched his old hoodie, the one he used to wear when he came back from work, and buried her face in it, inhaling the faint scent of him that still lingered.

Outside, the world moved on, unaware that Alisia's world had shattered.