Souline

00

She looks around the house in awe as she wanders off into the dining room and sets her binder on the table.

"Did something happen?" I have no idea what's going on and I kind of need a bit of context to find the answer to that.

"You're the daughter of Christopher and Ella Sinclair correct?" She asks.

I simply nod while I take a seat across from her and stare at her as she takes out papers out of her binder.

"Okay so wh-" I can feel the intensity rising in this room. Something happened and all the scenarios going on in my head are killing me.

"I'm sorry but can you just rip the band aid off?" I ask as politely as possible not trying to sound rude.

"I'm afraid while going to Utah, they seemed to have been in an accident," she informs me sincerely.

"What? What are you you talking about?" I ask in disbelief. An accident?

What kind? A car accident, accident at work, slip and fall accident, fire?

"While on the plane to come back, the plane's engine began to catch on fire. The pilot could not control the plane. He tried to make it into a safe landing but he could not get it under control, they crashed into this forest located in Michigan," she informs me.

Plane crash.

They're dead?

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

She continues on the accident as she stares at me intently.

"Unfortunately, all passengers on board passed away, the impact was too hard for their bodies to survive. The impact in the crash as well as the fire inhaling their lungs was too much," she informs me looking down at her binder.

"They're bodies? Did you find they're bodies?" I question.

"My team is working on that to find all the lost victims but at the moment no."

"And if you don't?" My eyebrows furrow.

She stays silent. All this fucking miss of information that I need to satisfy me is missing.

I fucking hate it.

I stand up from my seat pacing back and forth. "Funeral, funeral. How the fuck are they going to have a funeral?" I rub my temples from the forming headache coursing through my head.

"Like, I said, my team is doing everything they can," she reassures me.

I take a couple deep breaths before I sit down again.

"You're okay," I breathe to myself.

"You on the other hand, are 18. You get to move out. Your parents had a will and left all their money to you. Because you're 18 now, you inherit all of their money that will be stored in your account."

My mind goes back 30 steps and realizes that they're actually gone. They died. I didn't even get to say goodbye. I thought they were going to come back, like they always do.

My grandparents have always despised my parents relationship. They thought they were throwing they're lives away for each other when in reality they just connected their lives and lived in it as one.

I feel my cheeks turn wet, I quickly wipe my eyes and focus my attention back on the lady.

"Thank you, Mrs.."

"Miller. Tracy Miller." She finishes.

"Yes honey, here," she gives my a card,"You call me whenever you want." She assured me as she gives my hand a tight squeeze.

My tears begin to fall more and I just pray my waterproof mascara does me justice.

"Yeah, thank you. I'll walk you out."

"Before I go, I just want to say, I love your eyes. They're very unique," she looks back at my heterochromia eyes.

I smile back trying not to let my frustration take over.

Can I even walk still? This amount of information overwhelms me.

"Thank you again for everything," I tell her as she walks out the door and into her car.

I shut the front door and just stand there.

I walk back into the living room and look at everything.

The piano, pictures, fake smiles, paintings, everything and I see all these negative and positive memories at the same time.

I try so hard to remember some good memories between us but I can only remember a couple. This isn't how I want to remember them.

I pick up a "picture" that was taken on Christmas last year. Fake smiles, unhappy people, a mask.

They couldn't even come this year because of their fucking job.

I never cared about money, I never cared about the different toys people had, I wanted parents. A family.

I throw the picture on the floor as I hear the glass crack.

I pick up another and see my eye bags in the photo but I can also see the anger on parents' face from that day when they realized I was late to the photoshoot appointment.

I throw that one on the floor too.

This was all fake. The smiles. The personalities. The family.

I need a new start.
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