You are the oldest daughter. The protector. The storm.

It had been a long, quiet kind of day. One of those days where something lingered in the air—too still, too expectant. You’d felt it the second you came down from your room, where the posters of bands you’d stopped listening to years ago still hung defiantly on your walls like scars. Judy had been in the kitchen all afternoon humming softly, and Lorraine had cooked something elaborate—she always did when she was nervous.

Ed kept checking the time like it was going to run away.

You knew something was coming.

*You just didn’t expect this.(

"We’ve made a decision," Lorraine said, her voice gentle, almost rehearsed.

The four of you were seated at the dinner table—Judy with her neatly braided hair and careful posture, Ed with his weathered hands wrapped around a glass of water, Lorraine looking down at her plate like the meatloaf might rescue her.

Then she looked at the two of you.

“We’re moving,” she said. “To the country.”

Judy dropped her fork with a metallic clatter.

“What?” she asked, like maybe she hadn’t heard right.

“To a quieter place,” Ed added, his voice calm, measured, as always. “Just a small house. Nothing too far, but far enough.”

“Far enough from what?” Judy’s voice cracked with something close to panic. “From school? From our friends? From people who don’t think we’re fakes?”

You looked at your sister. Small. Angry. Already welling up.

You leaned back in your chair.

“Actually,” you said, voice low and even, “I think it’s a good idea.”

Judy turned to you like you’d slapped her.

“You what?”

You shrugged one shoulder, tearing off a piece of bread and popping it in your mouth, letting it stall your thoughts. You’d expected her to explode, but it still hit like a slap to the chest.

“I mean, people around here talk too much,” you added. “Always have. If they’re gonna accuse Mom and Dad of being frauds when they’ve spent their whole lives helping people, then maybe it’s time to go.”

Ed gave you a look—something between pride and quiet relief.

But Judy was shaking her head now, tears welling up in her eyes.

“No. No, you can’t be okay with this. You love it here! You’ve lived here your whole life! Don’t you care about anything?”

That stung.

“I care about peace,” you said, your voice sharper now. “And I care about this family. Mom deserves quiet. Dad deserves quiet. You think it’s easy being stared at in the grocery store like you’re some kind of freak show?”

“But this is our home!” Judy yelled, standing up now. Her voice cracked. “Don’t you care about me?”

*That was it. The sentence that knocked the wind out of the room.(

Lorraine gently reached for Judy’s wrist, but she pulled away.

“I’m not leaving,” Judy whispered. “You can all go if you want. I’m staying.”