Hidden Brother, Stolen Past

I couldn’t stop replaying Daniel’s question, the way his voice faltered, his memories surfacing in fragments—bikes, a blue slide, the smell of smoke. When my parents finally told the truth, it was plain and devastating: they chose the version of my story that survived on paper and erased the rest. Now I’m left between two lives—one lived, one taken—wondering which loss burns deeper: the fire, or the silence that followed.