A house of secrets

The house was silent, steeped in the stillness of the night. I awoke, restless, and slipped out of bed. As I moved toward the sitting room, a faint noise grew louder with each step. The wooden floors creaked under my feet, so I tiptoed carefully into the kitchen.

What I saw made my stomach churn. My elder sister, Rebekah, stood too close to our younger brother, Ryder, their conversation hushed but laced with something unsettling. This wasn’t the first time I had caught them whispering like this, exchanging glances that carried an air of secrecy.

Whenever our parents were away, they seized the opportunity to shut out the world and exist in their own hidden reality. I had witnessed it before—their closeness, the way they seemed to share an understanding that no one else in our family could grasp. But tonight, something about it felt even more unnerving.

Hiding behind the wall leading into the kitchen, I listened.

“You did well today, caterpillar. Tomorrow will be even better, won’t it?” Rebekah murmured, adjusting her nightgown.

Ryder smirked, stepping closer. “Of course, my dear mouse,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

I backed away slowly, careful not to make a sound. My breath was unsteady as I returned to my room and shut the door behind me. The air felt heavy with something I couldn’t name—a darkness that had settled in this house long before tonight.

This strange bond between them had begun months ago—or perhaps much earlier. I had only started noticing it three months back, but who knew how long it had truly been there? It sickened me, not just because of what I had seen, but because of how deep it ran.

I had always been the outsider in my own family. Unlike them, I refused to follow the strict religious path my father had carved out for us. Ten years ago, he built a church from the ground up, and in just eight years, he had become a wealthy and renowned pastor. Our household was governed by rigid rules—no dating, no secular music, no deviation from the faith.

At first, I never questioned it. I was his favorite, the obedient daughter, the one who brought him pride. Until Rebekah destroyed everything.

One lie—that’s all it took. She framed me for something I never did, accusing me of being involved with someone from the church. And not just anyone—a woman.

My father never looked at me the same way again. To him, I was a disgrace, a stain on the perfect family he had built. My mother offered no defense, no comfort. She was a quiet presence in our home, a shadow of a woman who never dared to challenge my father’s authority.

I was twenty-four, but I already felt as though my life had been stolen from me. No matter what I did, I could never earn back my father’s love. Instead, he showered Rebekah with everything—introducing her to wealthy men in the church, buying her expensive gifts, ensuring she had the best of everything. She had taken my place in every way that mattered.

I had dreams of my own. I had earned my degree and longed to become a journalist, but my father dismissed my ambitions without a second thought. He wanted me to inherit the church, to devote my life to preaching and repentance—“so I could bring Jesus back into my life,” as he put it.

But I knew the truth.

This house, this family, was built on secrets. And I was the only one willing to see them for what they truly were.