confession failed

At eighteen, I drunkenly confessed my feelings for my adopted brother, Liam. I thought it was just a slip-up, a momentary lapse in judgment. But the shift in Liam's demeanor afterward was palpable. The easy affection, the constant presence, all gone.

He started working late, barely responding to my texts. Liam had always been the aloof, popular type, the kind who received love letters by the truckload, but to me, he was just my protective older brother. He'd soothe my tears, cover for my mistakes. People called him a "sis-con," and he never really denied it. I thought I was different, special. Until I tripped and fell, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, and realized without the "little sister" label, I was nothing.

It hit me hard when Liam stopped coming home altogether. Mom made soup one evening and asked me to take it to his office, hoping I could convince him to come back. "Liam adores you, honey. He’ll listen to you." I plastered on a smile, my heart heavy.

At his top-floor office, Liam barely looked up from his work when I entered. I placed the soup on his desk, the aroma filling the room. "Liam, Mom made you chicken soup. She wants you home."

"Uh-huh."

I fidgeted, forcing a laugh. "Liam, I’m sorry about that night… I didn't mean to scare you. I mistook you for someone else. Just forget it, okay?"

His eyes, dark and unreadable, finally met mine. "Mistook me? I don’t think you have another Liam in your life, Chloe. You said my name, you said you liked me, and you kissed me."

My face went white. His words, delivered so calmly, felt like a death sentence. "Liam, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." He’d never used my full name, not even when he was angry. This was his way of being truly ruthless.

"Mom’s worried about you. Come home. This is your home.” My voice cracked. "If anyone should leave, it should be me. I’ll move out… just… stop avoiding me."

"Whatever."

I moved out. Two years passed without contact, not even with Mom, who called frequently, her voice thick with tears. Guilt gnawed at me. They treated me like their own, gave me everything, and I repaid them by developing feelings for their son. How could I face them?

During a particularly nasty flu season, I succumbed to the virus. I’d just swallowed a couple of DayQuil when Mom called. I quickly switched to voice-only, not wanting her to see how sick I was.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

"Just got out of the shower."

"Did you wash your hair? Don't blow-dry it by yourself. I worry when Liam’s not there."

I froze. Two years of living alone, and I'd almost forgotten. I’d once gotten my hair tangled in a hairdryer. After that, Liam always dried my hair, no matter how late or tired he was.

Mom’s voice sounded unusually cheerful. "Honey, will you come home tomorrow? I’ll have Liam pick you up." Before I could answer, she continued, "Liam’s bringing his girlfriend home tomorrow. We’ll have dinner, all of us. It’ll be nice. I miss you so much."

A thunderbolt struck. My senses went numb, as if the lig...