One Last Thing

The room was dim, filled with the soft beep of machines and the sterile smell of antiseptic. The air, thick with the weight of illness, seemed to hold its breath as if the world itself knew that something important was about to happen. Outside the bedroom, the sun had begun to set casting shadows across the walls. Little did I know that this would be our last conversation.

I sat at the edge of my sister’s bed, watching her sickly form. My once strong sibling was now bedridden. She was barely recognizable under the thin hospital sheets. The illness had taken all of the color from her face. The pain had made her quiet, her usual loud laughter was now replaced by a smile that barely reached her eyes. It had been months since the doctors had said there was nothing more to be done, but I’d clung to the hope that she would get better. Hope, I had come to realize, was a luxury we couldn't afford anymore.

I saw my sister everyday after work. I would talk to her about everything that happened at work and some family gossip. I shared some jokes with her even though I knew she wouldn’t or couldn’t respond. The hospice nurse said to expect her transition any day, but honestly, I didn’t. I just wanted my oldest sister back. But nothing surprised me more than what she said to me one afternoon.

She turned her head towards me and opened her eyes. She grabbed my hand as she tried to get the words out.

"Claire ," she said, her voice cracking. "There’s something that I need to get out before I die."

I leaned closer, trying to ignore the pang of anxiety that tightened my chest. "What is it, Jean? You can tell me anything."

She squeezed my hand, her grip surprisingly firm for someone so weak. Her eyes held a gleam of urgency that I hadn’t seen in a along time.

"I got to get this off my chest. It’s bad. Very bad. You will think that it’s something terrible. Something unforgivable."

I stared at her, not sure how to respond. The words felt like a weight pressing down on my chest. I had always known my sister went through something dramatic when I was away at college. Our parents and grandparents never told me what it was because they wanted me to focus on school. Every time I came home on a break , her and my parents would have this unspoken conversation and I would feel left out. By the time I graduated, it no longer bothered me. But now, she’s deciding to tell this secret on her deathbed.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "What have you done?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, and when she opened them again, there was a deep sadness in her gaze. "It’s about our stepfather. I never told you the truth about him. But I have to now. You deserve to know."

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of my stepfather. He had been gone for years, disappeared when I was in junior high. I had never fully understood why he’d left or what had really happened. My mother had always been vague on the subject, speaking of him only in passing, and whenever I pressed for details, she would change the subject or tell me it wasn’t important. But now, my sister is getting ready to tell me what happened to him and why everyone stopped talking about him. And it was big.

I leaned in, my voice trembling as I asked, "What did you do?"

Her eyes darkened, the weight of her words almost too much to bear. "I was into some things that mom didn’t like. One night, is got high with my boyfriend. We were at the park smoking in his car. Mom was upset that I missed curfew. She sent our stepdad to look for me. When he caught up with us, we were naked in the car. He was so made that he broke the window with his fists. My boyfriend and him got in to a fight. He kept hitting Lance even after he stopped moving. So I took the flashlight out the backseat and hit our stepdad on the back of his head. But the thing is that I didn’t stop until I saw blood dripping from his head. It was almost like I was having an out of body experience. My boyfriend woke up and saw the mess. He wanted to hide the body and I helped him. I helped him cover it up and I’m not proud of it. I thought I could escape it, that I could bury it, but it’s always been there, eating away at me. Now... now I can’t take it with me."

My stomach twisted into knots. "You... you’re telling me that you and Lance murdered our stepdad?"

She hesitated. "Yes. Then we drove to the bridge and dumped his body in the river."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "In the river?" I repeated. Her face crumpled, "Yes. And when I got home, I told mom that he saw me naked and tried to kiss me. She was beside herself crying for days. Grandma came over to comfort her while grandpa packed up all his things. His body was found weeks later and there were no suspects. I really tried to forget. I told myself it was just an accident. It wasn’t my fault and that I had no choice. But I did, Claire. I had a choice. I could have done things differently. I could have gone to the police. But I didn’t."

I sat back, feeling as if the floor had dropped out from under me. A cold numbness spread through my veins. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The room seemed to spin. The stepfather I had spent my whole life wondering about, was killed by my sister. "But... why are you telling me this now?" I managed to ask, my voice hoarse with emotion. "Why after all this time? You could have kept this secret forever."

Her grip on my hand tightened. "Because I can’t take it with me. I don’t deserve forgiveness. I don’t want you to carry this burden. You need to know the truth, so you can decide what to do with it. So you can make your own choices."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. The weight of her confession pressed down on me. My sister had kept this secret for decades, burying it deep inside her. And now, with her life nearing its end, she was leaving me with it. A secret too big, too dangerous to keep. A secret that could destroy everything I thought I knew about my family. The machines in the room beeped in time with her slow, labored breaths. I watched her, this woman who had once been my best friend, now reduced to a shell of the person she had been. And in that moment, I realized something. I wasn’t just deciding whether to reveal a secret. I was deciding what kind of person I wanted to be. In the end, I didn’t know if I would ever be able to reveal the truth to the world. But for now, the secret is staying with me.