My brother was 16 when he vanished.
We searched for years, then lost hope.
My best friend would say, “Let go and focus on yourself!”
She then suddenly found a job and left. Recently,
I made her a surprise visit. She wasn’t happy to see me. I was horrified to discover…
…a framed photo on her hallway table.
It was of her, smiling next to a teenage boy who looked exactly like my brother, Auren.
My heart dropped. It was the same smile, the same scar near the right eyebrow, the same posture. But older—maybe 19 or 20 now. He was supposed to be missing.
I asked her, trying not to scream, “Where did you get this photo?”
Maris turned pale, like I’d slapped her. “It’s… old. From a shelter I volunteered at.”
That didn’t make sense. She used to volunteer at a dog rescue, not a youth shelter.
Something felt off. Her hands were shaking. I knew that look. It was the same one she had the day Auren disappeared—nervous, distracted, always checking her phone.
I didn’t push it right then. I mumbled an excuse and left, clutching my phone so tightly it could’ve cracked.
Back home, I dug through everything—old photos, messages, even security camera archives from around our street. I had nothing concrete, but one thing gnawed at me: the week Auren vanished, Maris skipped school for three days. She told me she was sick.
She lied.
I went back to her place two days later with a plan. I apologized for acting weird, brought coffee and played it cool. When she went to the bathroom, I snooped. I found a storage key taped under a drawer.
I followed it.
It led me to a small storage unit just outside town. I waited till nightfall, then went with bolt cutters. Inside were boxes. One was full of letters—written in Auren’s handwriting.
They were addressed to her.
“Thanks for helping me get away.”
“I know I couldn’t tell my sister—I saw how much she was struggling after Mom died.”
“You kept your word. I’ll never forget that.”
I sat there, numb. My throat burned. So she knew.
He chose to leave?
I read every letter. Over months, then years, he talked about working odd jobs, staying in shelters, eventually finding stability with some family he met through Maris’s aunt. She connected him. She hid him.
All while watching me cry every night.
I confronted her that evening. No more games. No more pretending.
She broke. Said he came to her the night he left, scared out of his mind. He felt trapped—after our mom died, Dad spiraled into drinking, and I was barely holding it together myself. Auren couldn’t handle the fights, the pressure, being the “man of the house” at sixteen.
So she helped him run. Said he begged her not to tell me. Said he believed I’d be better off without worrying about him.
And she agreed.
“I didn’t tell you,” she whispered, “because I didn’t want to lose you too.”
I should’ve hated her. But I couldn’t. Not fully.
Because I remembered the nights I did fall apart. The bills, the arguments, the way I once told Auren I wished I could just disappear.
Maybe he heard that too clearly.
Maris gave me his last known address. Said he moved again a year ago, but it might help. I followed the lead, expecting nothing.
But there he was.
Standing behind the counter of a secondhand bookstore in Langford, two towns over.
We both froze.
He said my name like a question. Then we cried. No dramatic speeches. Just tears, laughter, hugs.
We sat on the curb till midnight. He told me everything. And I told him everything he missed.
He apologized—over and over. But I realized… I didn’t want one. I just wanted him.
We’re not the same people anymore. But we’ve started rebuilding something. Slowly.
As for Maris… our friendship is different now. There’s a scar there. But scars don’t mean it’s over. They mean something healed.
Here’s what I learned:
Sometimes people leave not because they don’t care—but because they don’t know how to stay.
And sometimes, forgiveness is the only way forward.
If you’ve lost someone—don’t lose yourself too.
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