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<\/p>\nThe second she said my name, my entire body went cold. I knew that voice. I had spent ten years trying to forget how much I missed hearing it. I was thirty years old, sitting at my kitchen island with my laptop open and a half-finished cup of coffee beside me. Seconds earlier, it had been an ordinary morning. Now I was gripping the edge of the counter so tightly my fingers hurt. When the receptionist came back on the line, I forced myself to speak.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry. Who exactly is there with you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour sister, Clara,\u201d the woman replied. \u201cShe had dental work this morning and is still a little disoriented from the medication. Her phone died, so she gave us your number.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I could barely breathe.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy sister died ten years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence. Then the receptionist spoke carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m very sorry. Would you like me to put her back on?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a rustling sound. Then that voice again.<\/p>\n
\u201cSarah?\u201d<\/p>\n
My chest tightened painfully.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
She gave me the address.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
I grabbed my keys and ran out of the house. Clara and I had been twenty when she \u201cdied.\u201d Her car had left a dark highway, rolled down an embankment, and caught fire before emergency crews reached it. Authorities told us there was almost nothing left to recover. We buried a closed coffin. My mother visited Clara\u2019s grave every week for years. My father refused to drive that stretch of highway. And I spent most of my twenties learning how to exist without the person who had been beside me since before either of us could remember.<\/p>\n
Therapy helped. Eventually, I moved about twenty minutes from my parents, found a steady job, and bought a small house. I learned how to make plans that didn\u2019t include Clara. But grief leaves strange habits behind. Sometimes I still bought two pastries without realizing it. I still owned two matching blue mugs. One for me. One that I always called \u201cthe spare.\u201d<\/p>\n
When I reached the dental office, I pushed through the waiting-room door. A woman sitting in the corner slowly stood. I stopped breathing. She looked older. Of course she did. So did I. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, and a pale scar curved along one side of her jaw. But her eyes were the same. And she was twisting a silver ring around her finger in exactly the way Clara used to twist her bracelets whenever she was nervous.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t just say hi.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her nervous smile vanished.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t make myself hug her. Not yet.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did we call the dent in my bedroom wall?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes immediately filled with tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe moon.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach twisted.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho broke Mom\u2019s vase during the blizzard?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI did. You took the blame because Dad said he\u2019d ground me and I wanted to go to Maisie\u2019s birthday.\u201d<\/p>\n
My knees almost gave out. Clara moved toward me. I stepped backward.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s really you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to understand everything right now,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t get to tell me what I have to understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stopped.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re right.\u201d<\/p>\n
Same eyes. Same tiny line between her eyebrows when she was frightened. It was Clara. And somehow that realization made me feel worse, not better.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you alive?\u201d<\/p>\n
She glanced around the office.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we leave first?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSarah\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you alive?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her voice dropped.<\/p>\n
\u201cI survived the crash.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe buried you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe coffin was empty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom still puts flowers on your grave.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara closed her eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad couldn\u2019t drive that highway for five years.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach dropped.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n
She opened her eyes. And suddenly I understood that Clara being alive was not the only secret waiting for me.<\/p>\n
Outside, she asked me to take her home. For one ridiculous second, I assumed she meant our parents\u2019 house.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll call Mom and Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease take me to my apartment first.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour apartment?\u201d<\/p>\n
She gave me an address. I recognized the town.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s two towns away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
I almost laughed from disbelief.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve supposedly been dead for ten years and you\u2019re living two towns away?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot the entire time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA few years.\u201d<\/p>\n
I drove in silence. When I\u2019m frightened, I make lists. That morning, my mind contained nothing but questions. Finally, Clara spoke.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s something I need to explain about the dentist calling you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t consciously choose your number.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was still groggy. They asked who they could call, and apparently I gave them your number automatically.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the road.<\/p>\n
\u201cClara, I\u2019ve had that number for more than ten years.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you remembered it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cApparently.\u201d<\/p>\n
Something inside me cracked. Somewhere beneath ten years of a completely separate life, my phone number had stayed inside her memory.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy mine?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
After a moment, she asked quietly,<\/p>\n
\u201cAre Mom and Dad okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI meant emotionally.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom had called me every Sunday after the accident. Dad had never tried to force me to talk. He would simply sit beside me whenever grief made words impossible. They had helped me survive Clara\u2019s death. While Clara had apparently been alive.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou remembered my number,\u201d I said. \u201cBut you don\u2019t know how Mom and Dad are?\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara turned toward the window.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s complicated.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen start explaining.\u201d<\/p>\n
When we reached her apartment, another part of me shattered. This wasn\u2019t some temporary room. This was a home. Plants filled the windows. Framed photographs lined the shelves. A yellow mug sat beside the sink. Clara had preferences. Routines. Friends. A life. I picked up a gardening book.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou hate dirt.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI used to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou once killed a cactus.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her mouth twitched. Then I saw the photographs. Clara laughing at dinner. Clara kneeling beside a garden. Clara standing beside people I had never seen before. There wasn\u2019t a single photo of me.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long have you lived here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThree years.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd before that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFarther away.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned toward her.<\/p>\n
\u201cStart with the crash.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara sat down.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was thrown from the car before it caught fire. Apparently, I wandered after the accident. Another driver found me miles away near a different road.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou had no identification?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd your memory?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlmost completely gone.\u201d<\/p>\n
She rubbed the silver ring.<\/p>\n
\u201cI knew how to use a spoon before I knew my last name.\u201d<\/p>\n
I said nothing.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy first name came back earlier than everything else. But knowing I was Clara didn\u2019t tell me where Clara belonged.\u201d<\/p>\n
Memories returned gradually. Fragments. Mom\u2019s yellow kitchen. My voice. Childhood places. Pieces of herself. Then I asked the question I had been avoiding.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen did you remember me?\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara looked away.<\/p>\n
\u201cSarah\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long ago?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long, Clara?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cSix years.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cSix years?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou knew who I was six years ago?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou knew I thought you were dead?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hands started trembling.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you call?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI tried once.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOnce?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI found Mom and Dad\u2019s old number, but it had been disconnected.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd then you just gave up?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wrote letters.\u201d<\/p>\n
My chest tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you send them?\u201d<\/p>\n
She lowered her eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
I grabbed my purse.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen those letters weren\u2019t for us, Clara. They were for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She flinched.<\/p>\n
\u201cSarah, please.\u201d<\/p>\n
I reached the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can explain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou had six years to explain.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then I walked out. I didn\u2019t tell Mom and Dad that evening. That was one decision Clara wasn\u2019t going to make for me. She had controlled enough of the truth already. That night, I opened a kitchen drawer and found the two blue mugs. One for me. One \u201cspare.\u201d And I suddenly realized I had been buying things in pairs for ten years because some part of me had never completely accepted being alone.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you sitting down?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSarah, you know I hate when you start conversations like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her voice changed.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cClara is alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nothing. Not even breathing. Then Mom whispered,<\/p>\n
\u201cSweetheart\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw her.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another silence.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe remembers things nobody else could know. The moon in my bedroom wall. Dad\u2019s vase. It\u2019s really her.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad came onto the phone. He didn\u2019t ask where Clara was. He didn\u2019t demand proof. He simply said,<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you need from us?\u201d<\/p>\n
That nearly broke me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen we\u2019ll start with that.\u201d<\/p>\n
Two days later, I drove my parents to Clara\u2019s apartment. Mom stopped as soon as we entered. Clara was standing near the window. For several seconds, nobody moved. Then Mom crossed the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy baby.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara stiffened. Then she collapsed into her arms. Dad stayed several feet away, wiping his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, kiddo.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned my face away. I loved Clara. I was furious with Clara. Both emotions existed at the same time. After everyone calmed down, Mom started talking quickly, desperate to rebuild ten lost years in a few minutes.<\/p>\n
\u201cI still make that cherry pie you always loved. Your old room isn\u2019t blue anymore, but we could paint it again. Remember the song you girls used to sing?\u201d<\/p>\n
The mug in Clara\u2019s hand slipped onto the counter.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom froze.<\/p>\n
\u201cClara?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease stop.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom looked confused.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was only\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t do this!\u201d<\/p>\n
The room became silent. Clara pressed both hands over her face. Then she looked at us.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is exactly why I didn\u2019t want to come back.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom\u2019s expression collapsed.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I mentioned pie?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara\u2019s voice shook.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause five minutes after seeing me, you\u2019re already trying to rebuild the girl I used to be.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought familiar things would help.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t even like cherry pie anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom stared at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut Sarah always loved it too. You girls liked all the same things.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara gave a short, bitter laugh.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere.\u201d<\/p>\n
She pointed toward Mom.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat. Exactly that.\u201d<\/p>\n
Something cold moved through me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara turned toward me.<\/p>\n
\u201cGrowing up, everything was Sarah and Clara.\u201d<\/p>\n
I frowned.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou got a better grade, people compared us. You made a team, people asked why I didn\u2019t. You won something, everyone looked at me like I was the defective version.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI never asked anyone to do that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen why are you looking at me like this was my fault?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you never had to think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her voice cracked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou walked into a room and got to be Sarah. I walked into the same room and became Sarah\u2019s twin.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom started crying.<\/p>\n
\u201cI never knew you felt that way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNeither did I completely.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara gripped the edge of the counter.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot until after the accident.\u201d<\/p>\n
At first, losing her memory had terrified her. But later, something unexpected happened. For the first time in Clara\u2019s life, nobody compared her to me. Nobody asked where her twin was. Nobody mentioned what Sarah liked or how Sarah performed. She began discovering things simply because she enjoyed them. Gardening. Different foods. New friends. A life that didn\u2019t contain me as a reference point.<\/p>\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo when you remembered us, you decided to stay gone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt first, I was scared.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd afterward?\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cAfterward\u2026I chose myself.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took a step back.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou chose yourself by letting us bury you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know how terrible that sounds.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt sounds terrible because it was terrible.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom reached toward her. Clara instinctively pulled away.<\/p>\n
\u201cI loved you all,\u201d she whispered. \u201cBut I was terrified that if I came back, I\u2019d stop being Clara again.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the price for becoming Clara was letting me spend ten years believing my sister was dead?\u201d<\/p>\n
She wiped her cheeks.<\/p>\n
\u201cI looked you up four years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
That hurt almost more.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou found me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you see?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour house. Your job. Your friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd because I looked happy, you stayed away?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wanted to know whether you were okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCurious enough to search for me, but not curious enough to call?\u201d<\/p>\n
She lowered her head.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara explained that rehabilitation had given her routines long before her memories returned. By the time she remembered enough to identify her old family, she had already started building another life. Then every passing year made returning more difficult. She kept telling herself we had healed. That appearing again would destroy everything. That perhaps leaving us alone was kinder.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could have told us you needed distance,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could have come home and said, \u2018I need my own life.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could\u2019ve asked me to stop comparing us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut instead, you allowed me to mourn you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes filled.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the part I can\u2019t defend.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was selfish.\u201d<\/p>\n
Finally. No excuses.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wanted freedom. And every year I stayed away made it harder to admit what I had done. Eventually, I started telling myself returning would hurt everyone more than staying gone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd seeing pictures of me living my life made that easier.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her face crumpled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned away. Then I looked at her again.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand wanting to be your own person.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara watched me carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand hating comparisons. I even understand being terrified that coming home would erase the person you became.\u201d<\/p>\n
She swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I will never understand why my grief had to pay for your freedom.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara started crying.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. Listen.\u201d<\/p>\n
She did.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou do not get to disappear again whenever being my sister becomes uncomfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I don\u2019t get to drag you backward and expect you to become the twenty-year-old Clara I remember.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another nod.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what happens now?\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor once, I decide.\u201d<\/p>\n
She waited.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe start small.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t disappear. You don\u2019t decide what information I can handle. And you don\u2019t make decisions for me because you think you know what\u2019s best.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom and Dad get to be angry too. I\u2019m not going to protect you from their questions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s fair.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not trying to be fair.\u201d<\/p>\n
I picked up my purse.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m trying to figure out how to have a living sister after spending ten years believing she was dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara wiped her face.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what do you want from me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I opened the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cLunch. Thursday.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was no magical reunion. No single conversation fixed everything. We started with lunch. Then another lunch. Then coffee. Sometimes we talked about the past. Sometimes we deliberately didn\u2019t. I learned that Clara drank tea more often than coffee now. She liked gardening. She hated cherry pie. She had friends whose names meant nothing to me but who had been beside her during years when I believed she was dead.<\/p>\n
And she learned things about me too. She discovered that I had changed careers twice. That I hated driving in thunderstorms now. That I no longer listened to half the music we loved at twenty. For the first time, we were meeting each other as adults instead of assuming twinhood meant we already knew everything.<\/p>\n
Mom struggled more. She kept trying to restore old traditions. Old foods. Old memories. Dad handled it differently. He mostly listened. One afternoon, Clara apologized to him. Dad stared at her for a long time. Then he said,<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m glad you survived.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara started crying.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I\u2019m angry you let us believe you didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad continued,<\/p>\n
\u201cBoth things can be true.\u201d<\/p>\n
Those words stayed with me. Because that was exactly what I had been trying to understand. I could love Clara and still resent what she had done. Mom could be grateful her daughter was alive and still mourn the ten years stolen from her. Clara could have genuinely suffered from comparison growing up while still being responsible for the pain she caused by staying away. None of those truths canceled the others.<\/p>\n
Three weeks after Clara returned to our lives, I stopped at a bakery before meeting her for lunch. The cashier recognized me.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe usual? Two blueberry scones?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked through the glass display. For ten years, I had automatically bought things in pairs. Two mugs. Two pastries. Two of anything that felt incomplete alone. It had become a private ritual of grief I hadn\u2019t even realized I was performing. I looked at the blueberry scones. Then I shook my head.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. Just one blueberry.\u201d<\/p>\n
The cashier reached for the bag. Then I noticed a chocolate croissant. Clara had ordered one the previous week.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd one of those too.\u201d<\/p>\n
The cashier placed them in two separate bags. One blueberry scone. One chocolate croissant. Different. I smiled. That felt right. Because Clara and I weren\u2019t continuing where we had stopped at twenty. There was no old version of our relationship waiting to be restored. She had spent ten years becoming someone I didn\u2019t know. I had spent ten years becoming someone without her. We couldn\u2019t erase either life. And maybe we shouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
When I reached the caf\u00e9, Clara was already sitting outside. She looked up as I approached.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou brought food?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cObviously.\u201d<\/p>\n
I handed her one of the bags. She opened it.<\/p>\n
\u201cChocolate?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou ordered it last time.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou remembered.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat across from her and opened my own bag. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Ten years earlier, I would have expected us to order exactly the same thing. Because we were twins. Because everyone assumed twins wanted the same things. Maybe Clara had even believed it too. Now she had chocolate. I had blueberry. Two different people sitting at the same table.<\/p>\n
And for the first time in our lives, neither of us needed to disappear in order for the other one to exist.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The second she said my name, my entire body went cold. I knew that voice. I had spent ten years trying to forget how much I missed hearing it. I … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":11198,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-11197","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family-drama-stories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11197","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=11197"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11197\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11199,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11197\/revisions\/11199"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/11198"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=11197"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=11197"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=11197"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}