The space between us.

Snowflakes drifted outside the frosted window, but inside the Marquez home, chaos reigned. Layla had somehow convinced their younger cousins to turn the living room into a “snowball war zone” using balled-up socks, and Leo— Layla’s ever the reluctant peacekeeper twin, stood in the middle, arms crossed, dodging every attack. “Can you at least try to act like civilized humans for five minutes?” he groaned, but Layla’s voice piped up in his ear, "What’s the fun in that?" He shot a glare at the space next to him, where Layla stood, her mischievous grin always right on cue. “You’re lucky I’m letting this slide, you know,” Leo muttered aloud, earning a strange look from his mother, who was busy hanging ornaments nearby, but she didn’t say anything. 

One of the cousins lobbed a particularly well aimed sock, hitting Leo square in the chest.

“You’re out!” He cried in triumph, doing a victory dance around the coffee table. Leo rolled his eyes scoffing slightly. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Your giving up? You gotta get ‘em back!” Layla’s voice chimed again, her tone full of amusement. Leo rolled his eyes, picking up a sock nearby, which he half-heartedly threw at the boy, who easily dodged. “Party pooper.” Layla teased.

Leo trudged into the storage closet, the smell of cinnamon and pine wafting through the air. There his mom had handed him with the task of untangling the Christmas lights, which, judged by the snarled mess in the box, was a punishment for some crime he hadn’t yet committed. His mom-who was sorting ornaments in the corner must’ve noticed his annoyed look because she spoke up. “Come on Leo, be cheerful. Have some…holiday spirit.” He snorted. “Holiday cheer my butt.” Leo muttered.

Layla suddenly appeared in the doorway, or at least her smile did, which seemed to thrive on Leo’s despair.

“Aww, look at you, Mr. Ba humbug.” She teased, casually leaning against the doorway. “Want me to sing you a carol to lift you spirits?”

Leo didn’t even bother to look up. “Unless the carol is about how this house doesn’t need more lights than it already does, save it.”

“Oh, come on! Even Ebenezer Scrooge had a turning point.” She said, plopping down on the hard floor next to him. “Maybe if you untie those lights faster, the ghosts of Christmas past will leave you alone.”

Leo huffed. “Well, you can tell the ‘ghost’ that WiFi is a thing now. Tell them to send a message.”

Layla laughed. “Classic Leo.” She stood up, walking away.

The Marquez family dining table was a patchwork of festive chaos—brightly colored plates piled high with tamales, roasted vegetables, and chaotic kids. Leo sat at his usual spot, fork in hand, trying to keep a low profile as conversations swirled around him. His mom was in charge of the seating arrangements, ensuring that no one—especially the little cousins—started a food fight before dinner officially began.

Layla’s voice was a constant buzz in his ear. “You know you’re going to have to talk to Aunt Clara eventually,” she said, her grin audible. “She’s been asking about your grades all week.”

Leo groaned quietly, stabbing a tamale with unnecessary force. “Why does everyone care about my grades so much? It’s a holiday, not a parent-teacher conference.”

“Oh, come on, Leo, it’s tradition. Embarrass you at dinner, feed you dessert afterward. Everyone wins.” Layla perched herself on the edge of his chair.

“Leo,” his mom called out, snapping him out of his muttered conversation. “Pass the salsa, please.”

He handed over the bowl, but not before Layla chimed in again. “Careful. Don’t spill it, or you’ll be the new family legend.”

Leo shot her a withering look, muttering under his breath, “You’re not helping.”

His little cousin, Daniel, stared at him. “Who are you talking to?”

Leo paused. “You know…Layla.”

Daniel squinted her eyes at him, then shrugged then nodded. “Right, right.”

Just as Leo thought the moment had passed, Layla’s voice piped up again, louder this time. “You’re really not going to eat that last tamale?” she teased. “Don’t make me finish it for you.”

Leo froze, staring at the tamale on his plate as if it had suddenly grown fangs. He glanced around the table, and to his horror, Aunt Clara’s eyes were locked on him, waiting for a response. She was famous for turning any quiet dinner into a session of "family bonding," usually centered around his academic performance.

“I swear,” Leo muttered, shoveling a bite of tamale into his mouth just to avoid more questions. “Next year, I’m bringing headphones.” 

Layla’s laugh was the only thing that followed him as he tried to disappear into his food. 

The noise of the dinner table faded as Leo retreated to the living room, finding solace in the dim glow of the Christmas tree lights. The house was still buzzing with conversation and laughter, but here, everything felt quieter. He collapsed onto the couch, staring at the flickering lights, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. 

"All alone, huh?" 

The voice wasn’t Layla’s this time. Leo didn’t even need to look up. His mom appeared in the doorway, her presence warm but knowing. She always seemed to know when he needed a break, though she never pressed. 

“Just needed some peace. From, Layla and everything.” Leo muttered, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

His mom gave him a weird and slightly worried look. “Leo…are you ok?”

Leo forced a smile, though you could tell it’s fake. “Yes. Just…exhausted. From school. From cousins. From everything.”

His mom chuckled softly, sitting beside him. The silence stretched between them, comfortable and familiar. There was no pressure, no demands, just the distant laughter of relatives. 

After a moment, Leo glanced over at her. “Do you think I’ll ever be like everyone expects me to be?” 

His mom didn’t answer right away. Instead, she gently squeezed his shoulder. “You’re already more than anyone expects, Leo. You’re exactly who you need to be.” 

Leo sat there, absorbing her words, feeling the warmth of the moment. As much as he liked to pretend he was fine with being the grumpy, sarcastic loner, maybe, just maybe, moments like this weren’t so bad after all.

His mom squeezed his shoulder one last time before standing up, leaving Leo alone with his thoughts once again. She gave him a quick smile before disappearing back into the chaos of the dinner table. 

Leo sat on the couch, still lost in his thoughts. His mom’s words, though comforting, couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him. Just as the stillness began to settle, Layla’s voice cut through the quiet.

“So, what, you’re just gonna sit here and sulk?” she teased, her usual sarcasm sharp. “Here I thought you were the family’s version of a Christmas miracle.”

Leo didn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the Christmas tree. He wasn’t in the mood for her teasing today. 

Layla, noticing the shift, walked into the room, her grin fading when she saw his slouched posture. “Leo? You okay?”

His eyes stayed on the tree. “Just tired,” he muttered. “Everything feels off today.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” Layla said, sitting beside him. “You think I can’t tell when my brother’s pretending to be fine?”

Leo looked at her, confusion flickering in his eyes. She was right, but he couldn’t explain it.

Layla softened. “Look, I know it’s not easy this year. But you don’t have to fake it around me.”

He sighed, the walls he’d built around himself crumbling. “I’m just frustrated. Overwhelmed.”

Layla nudged him. “I get it. Honestly, I don’t even want to hear Aunt Clara’s ‘grades talk’ again. But maybe you can survive this holiday without being the grumpy one, huh?”

A reluctant smile tugged at Leo’s lips. “Maybe.”

Layla’s playful grin returned. “Good. Because I’m not singing ‘Jingle Bells’ off-key just to get you to smile.”

Leo chuckled, the weight on his shoulders feeling lighter. “Thanks, Layla.”

“Don’t mention it,” she replied. “You’re still a pain, though.”

Leo laughed again, the tension slipping away, even if just for a moment. “And, hey,” she added as she stood, “I’m always gonna be here for you.”

With that, Layla walked off, leaving Leo feeling oddly comforted.

Leo trudged up the creaky attic stairs, the dust and musty smell greeting him as he pushed the attic door open. It was colder up here, the shadows more pronounced in the dim light, but that was fine. He liked it that way—quiet and empty, with no one to ask him why he wasn’t enjoying himself.

His mom had sent him up to find more Christmas decorations, but his mind was elsewhere. He could still feel the weight of the conversation with Layla, the odd comfort it had brought him, and the strange twist in his gut. As he sifted through the boxes of decorations, his fingers brushed against something unexpected: a photo album. 

Curiosity piqued, Leo pulled it out from beneath the tinsel and garlands, flipping it open to the first page. It was filled with memories—his parents, his cousins, family vacations, birthday parties. He stared at the faces in the photos, trying to ground himself in the familiar warmth of their smiles.

But then, his eyes froze on one picture.

It was a family photo from a trip to the beach—one he remembered well. His parents were beaming in the front, and there was a snapshot of him and Layla together. But as he stared at the image, something gnawed at him. Layla’s smile, her usual playful expression, didn’t seem right. It almost looked… too perfect. Like a memory forced into place.

He flipped the photo over, expecting to see the date and some loving note from his mom. But what he found instead made his heart skip a beat.

“The Marquez Family – Leo, Maria, and the kids.”

The photo didn’t say anything about Layla.

Confusion turned to shock. Leo scanned the picture again, his mind racing. There was his mom. There was he. But no Layla. His breath quickened, his fingers trembling as he turned the photo back and forth in his hands. 

Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at anymore. He turned the page. Another family picture. No Layla. The next. No Layla. And the next.

Leo felt the ground beneath him shift, his head growing heavy with the realization. His throat went dry as everything—his memories, his life with Layla, the playful banter, the teasing—flashed before his eyes in a dizzying blur.

He leaned against the attic wall for support, suddenly feeling very small. 

Layla wasn’t real.

A cold wave of panic washed over him. How? How had he never noticed? All these years, all the memories—they had all been lies. His mind had invented her. His twin sister, the person who had been by his side through his whole life, didn’t exist.

And suddenly, everything clicked. The weird looks. The way people avoided mentioning her. The empty space at family gatherings. His mom never brought her up when talking about their family. Leo had always chalked it up to the family just being awkward around him, but no… they hadn’t been awkward. They had been confused. 

Layla wasn’t real.

Leo swallowed hard, staring at the photo in his hands. His mind was a mess, the air in the attic too thick to breathe. He wanted to scream, to ask someone for answers, but he didn’t even know where to begin. His entire world had just cracked open, and now, everything felt off.

He clutched the photo tighter, his knuckles white as his eyes filled with tears. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. He wanted to tell someone, but who? There was no one left to ask.

“Leo?”

The voice was familiar, too familiar. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was her.

Layla.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently, her eyes scanning the room as though looking for what might be wrong.

Leo didn’t answer right away. His mouth went dry. He stood frozen, clutching the photo in his hand as Layla’s gaze softened.

“Leo?” she repeated, taking a step closer.

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

He felt his world fracture even further as everything he thought he knew about his life unraveled. There had never been a Layla.

The room felt impossibly small, his breaths shallow. The silence stretched as Layla continued to approach him, unaware of the mental chaos he was trapped in.

“Leo?” Layla’s voice held a note of concern. “What’s wrong?”

Leo dropped the photo on the floor, his hands shaking. He felt like he might shatter into a million pieces.

“Layla…” He said, his voice barely above a whisper, “you aren’t real, aren’t you?”