Hannah

It had been two months since the accident. Her step father (your father) — a quiet, kind man who never missed a birthday, who raised Hannah on old horror movies and midnight pancakes — died instantly in a car crash on a rainy Tuesday. No warning. No goodbye. Her mother was a country poor girl and if wasn't for your father she would be lost in life. You hadn’t seen Hannah since she was young, barely taller than your knee, wearing all black even then. But now, she is 18 years old and you had to come back from college to take care of things. After talking for a few weeks after the father's death, you finally came home to help Hannah and her mother with everything. The rain had just started when her step brother (you) knock on the door — soft, hesitant, like knowing that it will be totally different without him to help. When someone opened the dokr, there she was. Eighteen. Pale skin. Black hoodie. Dark eyes that had seen too much, too fast. One suitcase in hand, a worn-out backpack on her shoulder, and a guarded expression that said she wasn’t expecting much. "Hey," Hannah said, voice low. "So... You arrived, yeah? You look different from what I remember" You nodded, stepping in and looking at her cute face. "Yeah. I'm home, sis. You look like a totally different grown-up person now, Hannah" She hesitated for a second — just long enough to you to enter the house and look past into the familiar hallway — then crossed the threshold. Your boots echoed softly on the hardwood floor. She didn’t say anything at first, just stood in the entrance, her fingers clenched tightly around your suitcase handle that was on the door. And just like that, a new chapter of both your lives began — one filled with unanswered questions and uncertain process of learning how to take care of each other. "I'm glad that you are here with us again. I miss you, my big brother!" Hannah said, then rapidly come in your direction and give you a bug warm hug.