I took a deep breath.
"Aunt Trish, Anissa has her strengths," I countered.
"Maybe they're not as visible." I searched for the right words.
"But they're valuable." My voice was steady.
Trisha raised an eyebrow.
"Really?" Her tone dripped with skepticism.
As Clyde escorted Aunt Trish out, Anissa's composure crumbled, like fragile glass shattered on stone. Tears streamed down her face, a torrent of pain and hurt.
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close.
"Ani, I'm so sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"She had no right to say those things." I stroked her hair.
Anissa's body shook, sobs racking her frame.
I held her close, trying to absorb her pain.
"Shh, it's okay," I soothed.
But Anissa's pain ran deep, roots of insecurity and self-doubt.
When her tears subsided, leaving red-rimmed eyes.
I asked, gently.
"Ani, why does Aunt Trish treat you like that?"
Anissa's gaze evaded mine, avoiding the truth.
She shrugged, a feeble attempt at nonchalance.
"Doesn't matter," she muttered.
"Let's just forget it." Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
I pressed, concern etched on my face.
"But it does matter," I insisted.
"There's something more."
Something hidden.
Something Anissa wasn't telling me.
Anissa's eyes flashed, a warning sign.
"Drop it, Dahlia," she warned.
Her voice firm.
For a moment.
Then her expression crumpled.
She fled to her room, leaving me worried.
And uncertain.
About the secrets Anissa kept.
And the pain Aunt Trish inflicted.
I stepped onto the balcony, seeking solace in the cool night air. The stars twinkled above, a celestial canvas of twinkling lights. A calm silence enveloped me, a welcome respite from the tension-filled evening.
But my peace was short-lived.
Aunt Trish stood at the railing, gazing out into the darkness. Tears glistened in her eyes, a stark contrast to her earlier venom.
My initial resolve to ignore her melted. Concern took over.
"Aunt Trish?" I asked, worry lacing my voice.
"What's wrong?"
She turned, eyes red-rimmed.
"Dahlia," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Please..."
Her voice cracked.
"Go back to Clyde."
My eyes widened in shock.
"Incredible...," I breathed.
"Clyde's married, Aunt Trish."
To my sister.
"Anissa loves him," I reminded.
Aunt Trish's face contorted.
Pain.
Desperation.
"He's not happy," she insisted.
"With Anissa?" I asked.
Aunt Trish nodded.
"He needs you," she pressed.
But I stood firm.
My loyalty.
With Anissa.
"Clyde made his choice," I said.
"He chose Anissa."
Aunt Trish's eyes pleaded.
"Dahlia, for my sake," she whispered.
For Clyde's.
For the past.
Memories flooded my mind.
Clyde and I.
Our love.
Our heartbreak.
But I pushed them aside.
My heart belonged to Anissa.
Her pain.
Her happiness.
Mattered more.
"I won't hurt Anissa," I said.
"Ever."
Aunt Trish's face crumpled.
Defeat.
As Aunt Trish's face darkened, her eyes seemed to cloud over like a stormy sky. The gentle lines of her face twisted into a scowl, and her voice dripped with venom.
"Selfish," she spat, the word echoing through the night air like a curse.
"Anissa only thinks of herself," she continued, her tone biting.
"Her happiness, never Clyde's."
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, my mind reeling with confusion.
"Aunt Trish, what do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
But she turned, her silence as cold as ice.
She retreated into the shadows, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I sat, lost in the darkness, trying to make sense of Aunt Trish's words.
The Trisha Grey I knew was kind, warm, and nurturing.
Not this cold, calculating woman who seemed to harbor a deep resentment towards my sister.
What had changed her?
What secrets lay hidden beneath her polished surface?
I thought back to the evening's events.
Aunt Trish's criticism of Anissa.
Her pleas for me to return to Clyde.
It all seemed so contradictory.
Aunt Trish had always been a pillar of strength.
A source of comfort.
But now.
Now, she seemed to be tearing us apart.
The next day, Aunt Trish's venomous words continued to pierce the air.
"Anissa, your cooking is terrible," she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain.
"Can't you do anything right?"
Anissa shrugged, her expression eerily calm.
Unfazed.
But I seethed inside.
How could Aunt Trish be so cruel?
Didn't she see Anissa's pain?
I stormed out of the room.
Seeking Clyde.
"Clyde, what's going on?" I demanded.
He looked up from his phone.
Surprised.
"Your mom," I spat.
"She's tearing Anissa apart."
Clyde sighed.
"Mom's stressed," he explained.
"Business issues."
"That's no excuse," I countered.
"Why are you and your mom so terrible to Anissa?"
Clyde's expression turned guarded.
"Anissa's not innocent," he hinted.
"She's done things."
"Things that hurt people."
My mind reeled.
What secrets was Clyde hiding?
What had Anissa done?
To warrant such cruelty?
"Aunt Trish's words are poison," I said.
"And yours are no better."
Clyde's eyes flashed.
"Defend her all you want," he snapped.
"But you don't know the truth."
"I want to know," I pressed.
"Tell me."
Clyde's gaze dropped.
Silence hung between us.
Heavy.