Hi, My name is Catrina, and I live with my family. For most of my life, everything felt perfect.
My mother gave birth to twins—my sister Patricia and me. We were inseparable, the best of friends. People always said we looked exactly alike. We had the same blonde hair and the same face, but there was one small difference between us—our eyes.
My eyes were blue, deep and bright, glimmering like sapphire in the dark. Patricia's eyes, however, were blue-green, like a rare emerald reflecting light. At first glance they looked the same, but if you looked closely, the difference was clear.
Our mother's name is Lucy, and our father's name is Chris.
Life was wonderful.
But as people say, nothing lasts forever.
Everything began to change when my father's company went bankrupt. He owed a lot of money to many people, and the stress slowly crept into our home. From that moment on, my parents began arguing over the smallest things. Their voices, once warm and loving, became sharp and tired.
Time passed, and eventually my father managed to rebuild his company with the help of a few generous people and his closest friend, Larry. Little by little, he began paying off his debts.
But even though his business recovered, the relationship between my parents never truly healed.
The tension remained.
On the night of Patricia's and my tenth birthday, our parents called us into the living room. They looked serious—too serious for a birthday.
"Girls," my mom said gently, "can you both go to your room for a while? Your dad and I need to talk."
Something about the way she said it made my stomach twist. Patricia and I exchanged a look before quietly walking to our room.
But curiosity quickly got the better of us.
"I want to know what they're talking about," Patricia whispered.
"That's not a good idea," I replied nervously.
She grinned at me. Patricia had always been the brave one.
"Come on. We'll just listen."
Before I could stop her, she was already tiptoeing down the hallway toward our parents' bedroom. Reluctantly, I followed behind.
We crouched beside the door and listened.
"I think it's time we go our separate ways," my father said from inside the room. His voice sounded tired, almost defeated. "We've tried for so long to keep this family together, but things just keep getting worse."
"Me?!" my mother exclaimed. "You're blaming me?"
"Aren't you the one who keeps bringing up the debts?" my father replied, frustration creeping into his voice.
"But I've already paid them!" he added angrily.
There was a long pause.
Then my father spoke again.
"You know what… let's not prolong this discussion. We're arguing again, and I don't want the kids to hear us. I've made a decision. We should separate. It might be better for both of us."
My heart dropped.
"I'll take Patricia," he continued quietly, "and Catrina can stay with you."
The words hit me like a storm.
Patricia and I looked at each other in shock. Tears instantly filled our eyes. The thought of being separated from each other was unbearable.
Patricia shifted slightly, leaning against the door for support.
Creeeak.
The door made a loud sound.
Inside the room, everything went silent.
"Did you hear that?" my dad said.
Footsteps approached the door.
"Run!" Patricia whispered.
We turned and sprinted down the hallway toward our room. My heart pounded loudly in my chest.
But suddenly—
"Ahh!"
Patricia tripped and fell.
I quickly turned back to help her up, but it was too late. Our parents had already caught up with us.
They looked shocked—and disappointed.
I could see tears forming in my mother's eyes.
Patricia was gripping her ankle in pain, but she stayed silent.
So I spoke.
"Did you think we wouldn't find out?" I cried, my voice breaking as tears streamed down my face. "How long were you planning to keep it from us?"
My mother knelt down in front of us.
"We only wanted you to enjoy your birthday," she said softly. "Just for one day… we wanted you to be happy."
Before anyone could say anything else, Patricia suddenly began breathing rapidly.
Her chest rose and fell quickly.
"Patricia?" I said nervously.
She tried to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes slowly began to close.
"Patricia!" my mom shouted.
Everything after that happened quickly.
We rushed her to the hospital. My parents barely spoke during the drive, the silence heavier than anything I had ever felt before.
A few minutes after we arrived, the doctor examined her.
"She had a panic attack caused by shock," he explained calmly. "She also sprained her ankle during the fall. It will take some time for it to heal."
My father decided to stay with us until Patricia's ankle got better.
For two weeks, things felt almost normal again.
Almost.
But deep down, I knew it wouldn't last.
When Patricia's ankle finally healed, my father packed his things.
"I have to go," he said quietly.
I begged him not to leave. I cried and held onto him, hoping he would change his mind.
But he didn't.
And just like that—
He walked out the door.