Page 13 of A Sister's Secret

Lisa's heart pounded in sync with the thunder that grumbled in the distance, a tempest brewing within her as she faced her husband. His eyes were wild, a turbulent sea reflecting his inner turmoil, and she knew at that moment that her decision could no longer be postponed.

"Oliver, please," she implored, her voice steady despite the chaos swirling around them. "Think of Ethan, Abigail, Daniel, and Julia… think of us."

But his gaze was fixed on the faded images of his lost sister, a silent testament to his obsession.

"I am thinking of them!" he shot back, his fists clenched at his sides. "I'm trying to protect them from making the same mistakes!"

"By destroying yourself? By drowning in a bottle?" Her words were pointed, laced with fear and frustration. This wasn't the man she married—the tender-hearted woodworker who had once carved their initials into the old oak by the creek. This was someone else, someone consumed by grief and guilt.

"Mommy?" The small, quivering voice cut through their heated exchange like a knife. Abigail stood at the foot of the stairs, clutching her stuffed rabbit, her large eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Sweetie, go back to bed. Everything's okay," Lisa said, though her voice betrayed her assurance.

"Go!" Oliver's command was ragged, his hands running through his hair in despair. "Just go if you're gonna leave! Don’t wait until tomorrow. Leave."

The words hung in the air, suspended like the final note of a sad song. Lisa's resolve solidified as she gathered her courage like a cloak around her. With a glance that conveyed the depth of her love and the agony of her choice, she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Oliver."

In a flurry of motion, Lisa ushered the children, half-asleep and confused, into their jackets. She collected the essentials—diapers for Julia, a few clothes, the dog-eared copy of her favorite Harry Potter book that Abigail couldn't sleep without—and herded them toward the door.

"Lisa, you can't do this!" Oliver's plea was a mix of anger and desperation, his frame silhouetted against the flickering light of the living room lamp.

"Please, get help, Oliver. For your family," she urged, her voice breaking as she opened the door and stepped into the uncertain embrace of the night.

Oliver, muscles tense and jaw set, watched helplessly as the love of his life disappeared into the shroud of darkness with their children. He wanted to chase after them and beg for forgiveness, but his feet remained rooted, and his heart shattered piece by piece.

"You're not thinking straight!" he called out, voice hoarse, even as the car's taillights vanished down the winding road. "Lisa!"

But there was only silence and the distant rumble of thunder in response. Alone, he turned to face the empty home, each room echoing with memories and ghostly laughter. The haunting realization that his actions had driven them away settled heavily upon him, and the first drops of rain began to fall as if the heavens themselves wept for what had been lost.

The key turned with a soft click in the lock, and Lisa gently pushed open the door to Maggie's home. She stepped inside, ushering her children into the warmth that seemed to be infused with an immediate sense of security. Maggie was at the tavern but had left the lights on, the glow from the living room casting a welcoming beacon in the otherwise shadowy night.

"Mommy, are we going to stay here?" Ethan's voice was small, tinged with confusion and sleepiness.

"Just for tonight, honey," Lisa assured him, brushing a kiss on his forehead as she set Julia down in the portable crib Maggie had prepared. Abigail clutched her book close to her chest, eyes wide and searching. Lisa reached out, smoothing her daughter's hair and trying to muster a smile that felt genuine.

"Everything will be okay," she whispered, more for herself than for the children. The weight of her decision pressed on her shoulders, but here, at this moment, there was a semblance of peace.

Meanwhile, Oliver sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by an eerie stillness that seemed to mock him. The half-empty bottle of whiskey stood before him like an old friend who whispered false promises of forgetfulness. He poured another glass, his hands shaking slightly as he did so. Each gulp burned its way down, but it couldn't sear away the guilt that gnawed at his insides.

He looked around the once vibrant space, now devoid of laughter and light. The empty chairs were tombstones marking the absence of his family, and the ache in his chest grew with each labored breath. Oliver slammed the glass down, splintering the quiet with the sharp sound. It was all his fault. The realization was a bitter pill, one that no amount of alcohol could sweeten.

"Lisa…."

Her name escaped his lips, a whisper lost in the expanse of their deserted home. He rose unsteadily, wandering through the rooms where his children's imaginations once ran wild. Their drawings still adorned the refrigerator door, and the colorful scribbles and stick figures were in stark contrast to the monochrome grief that filled the house.

"Come back," he pleaded to the shadows, to the memories that lingered just out of reach. But there was no answer, only the oppressive cloak of loneliness that threatened to suffocate him. He stumbled back to the bottle, the only companion left to him in this self-made purgatory.

Outside, the rain intensified, pounding against the windows with a ferocity that matched his inner turmoil. Lightning flashed briefly, illuminating the despair etched deep into Oliver's face. He didn't notice the storm; he was already drowning in a tempest of his own making.

Lisa sat at the kitchen table in Maggie's house, her laptop open before her. The soft glow of the screen was a beacon in the pre-dawn quiet, the only light in a room shrouded in the stillness of early morning. Her fingers danced across the keys with purpose, each click a step toward a solution. She scoured the internet for local support groups and counseling services, her hazel eyes scanning through pages of resources with a resolve that belied the turmoil inside her.

"Mommy?" A small, sleepy voice broke the silence. Lisa turned to see Abigail rubbing her eyes as she padded into the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetie," Lisa said, her voice a soothing whisper. She scooped Abigail into her arms and kissed her forehead, feeling the heavy weight of responsibility on her shoulders. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I miss Ollie," Abigail mumbled, snuggling into her mother's embrace.

"Me too, baby. Me too."

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