I’d grown up watching those eyes measure what they could take.

Mama pressed my shoulder, her voice trembling just enough to sound rehearsed.

“Baby, we’re so sorry.

Tell us what happened.”

I gave them pieces.

The storm, the wreck, the silence.

Their faces barely changed when I admitted I hadn’t seen Ila after the wave.

Mama’s eyes lit, not with grief, but with certainty.

Daddy muttered.

The Coast Guard said, “Nobody else made it.”

His tone wasn’t broken.

It was satisfied.

Then came the questions.

Too many questions.

How bad was the engine?
Did the radios fail completely?
Did anyone see Ila go under?
Each one sharper than the last, drilling for confirmation.

When they finally left, Mama lingered at the door.

“If you hear anything else about Ila, let us know right away.”

I nodded, but inside, I swore they’d be the last to know.

A week later, the Coast Guard called.

They’d found a body washed ashore, unrecognizable, badly decomposed, but matching the timeline of the wreck.

At the morgue, my hands shook as the sheet was pulled back.

The face was distorted, barely human.

My heart screamed, “No,” but my mind had no proof.

I demanded DNA testing, though the coroner warned it could take months.

Mama and Daddy pushed for a funeral anyway.

“Let her rest,” Daddy said.

“Dragging it out won’t help anyone.”

His urgency felt like a shove.

So, we buried a body I wasn’t sure belonged to my sister.

Rain poured as dirt thudded against the coffin.

Relatives hugged me, whispering condolences I barely heard.

Mama and Daddy showed up late, whispering not prayers, but business.

Snippets of words like inheritance and assets floating in the rain.

I clenched my fist so tight my nails cut skin.

And then, just as the last hymn ended, my phone buzzed.

A message.

Unknown number.

“I’m alive.

That’s not me in the coffin.

My world tilted.

My knees almost buckled.

My pulse thundered so loud I thought everyone could hear.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, forcing my face still.

If Ila was alive, then someone had tried to erase her, and I already knew who had the most to gain.

After that message at the funeral, I couldn’t think straight.

I drove aimlessly through the rain until I ended up in a run-down diner off Highway 74.

I sat there with cold coffee, staring at my phone like it was a weapon.

I finally texted back, “If this is really you, where are you?”
No answer came that night.

I checked my phone so many times the screen blurred and finally fell asleep in a motel with peeling paint and a leaky faucet.

By morning, another message appeared.

“Meet me at Driftwood Cabin near Oaklight Beach Lighthouse.

9:00 p.m.

Don’t tell anyone.”

My heart skipped.

I didn’t know if it was a miracle or a trap, but there was no way I’d ignore it.

That night, I drove down the wet coastal road.

The lighthouse beam swung across the dark waves like a warning.

The cabin stood small and crooked, tucked behind the dunes, one faint light glowing in the window.

I knocked.

The door opened and there she was, Ila, my twin, alive.

Her frame was thinner, her eyes ringed with exhaustion, but she was real.

She threw her arms around me, sobbing.

“Maya, it’s me.

It’s really me.”

I held her so tight I thought we might fuse together again.

“I thought I buried you,” I whispered, my tears mixing with hers.

She pulled me inside quickly, glancing out the window as though shadows were watching.

The cabin was bare, just a table, two chairs, and a mattress on the floor.

Sitting down, she told me the truth in a trembling voice.

“When the yacht capsized, I thought I was gone.

But a fisherman pulled me out of the wreckage.

He brought me here and I begged him not to tell anyone.”

“Maya, I think somebody wanted me dead.

My chest tightened.

“You’re saying the storm wasn’t just bad luck?”
She nodded, eyes filling.

“Our parents insisted I go on that trip.

They hired the crew and then suddenly they backed out, saying, ‘Daddy was sick.

’ Doesn’t that sound wrong to you?”
I swallowed hard, then told her everything.

How at the funeral, Mama and Daddy spoke more to a banker than to mourners.

How they whispered about inheritance by her coffin.

Ila’s lips trembled.

“I knew it.

They wanted me out of the way so they could have everything Adrienne left me.

Then she leaned forward, voice lowering.

“But they don’t know one thing.

Before the trip, I made a private will with attorney Wells.

If anything happened to me, everything goes to you.

And if you weren’t alive, it all goes to a charity in Riverton.”

I couldn’t risk them getting it.

I froze.

“Ila, why didn’t you tell me?”
She gave a sad smile.

“I didn’t want you worrying.

I just wanted to be sure the money never fell into the wrong hands.”

The weight of her trust pressed into me.

“If they ever find out you’re alive, they’ll come after both of us.”

She nodded, eyes blazing now.

“Then we have to get proof.

Real proof.”

So, under that dim light, with the storm outside echoing the one inside our hearts, we made a plan.

I would meet Wells and confirm the will.

Then I’d dig at the marina, see if anyone noticed anything before the yacht left.

Somewhere there had to be a thread leading back to Mama and Daddy.

Before I left, I pulled her into my arms again.

“Stay hidden.

Stay safe.

Nobody touches you again.”

She leaned her forehead against mine, her voice soft but strong.