Parthenia smiled politely at the server as their food was set down, then picked up her fork, pushing her salad around for a second before actually eating any of it. “You look tired,” she said gently, eyes skimming over her sister’s face.
“That’s because I am.” Sabine smirked without humor.
“How’s Ade?”
“Good,” Sabine replied, softening. “He’s getting tall. Nosy. Still funny as can be.”
“Sounds like he’s doing well.”
“Shouldn’tsoundwith your own nephew.”
The silence that followed was stiff, not quite uncomfortable but not easy either. Like a dinner party with secrets. That’s how it always was now, cordial, but cautious. Sabine knew why. She didn’t blame her sister. Not really. Parthenia had married intotheir father’s circle. A world built on control, appearances, and strategy. Sabine had walked away and never looked back even after divorcing Adair.
Parthenia? She’d stayed. Not because she was weak but because survival sometimes looked like doing what you were told. Sabine had always been the louder one even while being quiet too. The disruptor in her family’s words.
“I saw pictures from Reeka’s party,” Parthenia finally said. “They were tagged on someone’s story, and I guess I still follow a few people…”
“You mean the ones before everything went to hell?” Sabine raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t want to say it.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Their eyes met for a moment across the table. A small flicker of the old closeness. The kind they used to share before everything turned into carefully timed check-ins and robotic conversations.
“Surprised your husband let you out for lunch?” Sabine asked lightly, biting into her sandwich. Parthenia blinked, then exhaled through her nose.
“Don’t start.”
“Wasn’t starting. Just saying, we haven’t done this in what…a year?”
“Because you stopped picking up.”
“Because you stopped calling.”
They both paused at that, then looked down at their food like the answer might be somewhere between the romaine and regret.
“I’m not happy, you know,” Parthenia said suddenly. Her voice didn’t rise or break but it dropped just enough for Sabine to hear what it meant.
“I know,” she said quietly. “You’ve never had to say it.”
“You were always braver than me.”
Sabine laughed once, dry and hollow. “You think it’s brave to lose everything and start from scratch with a toddler and nothing but grief?” she asked, not receiving a response. “I didn’t leave because I was brave. I left because I couldn’t breathe anymore. You—you learned how to hold your breath. Even if it killed you.”
“I envy you sometimes,” Parthenia whispered, voice barely above the chatter in the café around them.
“You shouldn’t.” Sabine leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. “You’re stronger than you think. Just not in the way they want you to be.”
The silence that followed was quieter. Warmer. Not healed, but…tolerated.
“I miss you,” Parthenia said, her voice a little smaller now.
“I miss you too,” Sabine admitted. It sat between them for a moment. The truth. Heavy and unfinished.
Parthenia looked down, her fingers curling around her fork again. “It’s weird…talking like this. Like we’re still trying to remember how to be sisters.”
Sabine shrugged, but the movement was tight. Parthenia offered a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.