All for the Plot

f i f t y (part one)

The house felt different now that Addison was gone. Last night I couldn't really digest the reality of her absence because of everything else on my mental plate, but now the thought plagued me as I lay down, staring at my stark, white ceiling.

What do to today? Plans with the girls? Nah, we have a shopping date tomorrow. Plans with Cirus? Well, only if he wants to. Plans alone? With that being the only answer left, I climbed out of bed, preparing myself for the day. Alone.

I picked a basic outfit. Leggings, a state sweater, and a matching pair of Crocs.

Staring at my hair in the mirror, I desperately needed a touch up from Kate. My ends were starting to grow out and my layers were smoothing out by the days.

But that would have to be tomorrow.

"Quinn?" I call out, stepping into the hallway. It was dark, chilly, and oddly reminiscent of a movie scene I'd seen when I was little.

I couldn't be completely alone. I needed my favorite companion, at least.

I open Ella's door, peering in to see an unmade, empty bed, and no trace of my youngest sister.

Hm.

The door closes with a click.

Nobody was upstairs, and after a careful exploration, I concluded that nobody was downstairs, either.

The last room to check was Aunt Teresa and Uncle Antony's room.

I hesitated at the door, but curiosity got the better of me. I stepped inside, immediately struck by how neat and orderly everything was. The bed was perfectly made, the curtains drawn just so, everything in its place. But something was in the air. A heaviness. Visually, the room was in pristine condition, but energetically, it felt stale. Like this space needed to be prayed over. That feeling was the reason I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

Something drew mw to the dresser, to a small, unassuming box tucked away in the back of one of the drawers.

I should't have, but I did. I had to. I opened the box.

Inside were stacks of papers--medical documents, by the look of them. Semen analysis, genetic testing, hormone assessments. The words swam before my eyes, making no sense at first. Why would they have these?

And then, slowly, the reality began to sink in.

The family van that always seemed to big for just the two of them.

The large home filled with empty rooms.

All the little things that didn't quite add up over the years now clicked into place with a heartbreaking clarity. They had planned for a big family--a house full of children, laughter, and life. But it never happened. It couldn't happen.

Looking more closely at the papers, trying to focus my vision and steady my hands, the results made it evident that it wasn't Uncle Antony's fault. Looking at other papers, It feels bad to say that the fault is Aunt Teresa's. It shouldn't be anyone's fault. But the result show a fault in her fertility. A low percentage.

The papers were proof of all the efforts they had made, all the hope they had clung to, and all the heartbreak that had followed. They wanted children, more than anything, but it just wasn't in the cards for them.

These documents date from 2016 to now.

My hand trembled as I carefully put everything back where I found it, closing the box and sliding it back into the drawer I felt a wave of sadness wash over me, mixed with an understanding that stung. They were so strict with me, with Addison, and Ella, not because they wanted to control us, but because they were the closest they'd ever get to experiencing what it meant to be parents.