Chapter 2: Back in Chicago

As I rushed into the living room, fists tight at my sides and my heart pounding so loudly it felt as though everyone could hear it. The polished marble floors reflected the chandelier lights above, but nothing about the room felt beautiful at that moment.

It felt impossible. The quiet, confident stranger standing there couldn’t be Ethan; it felt strange. He couldn’t be my brother.

The detective cleared his throat and reintroduced Ethan as my brother, as if saying the name again somehow made it more believable. “This is Ethan Hart. He has no memory of his childhood.

“How is that even possible?” I screamed, then let out a bitter laugh afterwards, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Every time, someone comes here pretending to be him!” I yelled at the top of my voice, my hands shaking with anger. “Fraudsters! Have you all forgotten how often this has happened? “Seems like you have”, I said, and now we’re just supposed to believe this?”

I turned, scanning the faces around me, desperate for a reason. “Or does it seem like you have?” I demanded. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “And now we’re just supposed to believe this?” I asked, my voice breaking despite my effort to stay strong.

Before I could finish my sentence, Vivian appeared behind me and slapped my cheek with the same precision I had always hated. “Don’t you know who this is?” she snapped. “This is our long-awaited guest”, as she referred to the investigator.

I held my hand to my cheek, anger rushing through me. I didn’t care that she defended the investigator or that she had spent years searching. None of it mattered. It was the fact that she believed it was my brother that hurt me the most, her son Ethan.

I stood there, staring at a man wearing Ethan’s name like a borrowed identity, while the woman who gave birth to him chose hope over truth.

Edward, my brother, stood there quietly beside me; his silence was the only thing keeping me from leaving. After Ethan’s disappearance, father decided to adopt Edward in order to take over the family’s business someday. He never spoke up when things got tense and never stepped in. He was always the steady guardian who watched over me; he was the only one who managed to fill in the void I felt after the disappearance of Ethan. I leaned on that comfort, never realizing how much he cared. He treated me as a sister should be treated, and I accepted it without question because he was always there for me as I was for him.

The man claiming to be Ethan stood still without altering a single word, hands at his sides, silent. His eyes showed no sign of recognition or any trace of the boy I remembered. There was only calm, unsettling composure.

I stormed into the library where he was, my anger protecting me. As soon as we were alone, I demanded, “Tell me why I should believe this. How can anyone forget everything? How can you walk into my home and expect me to accept you as my brother when I remember every laugh, every argument, every scraped knee, stolen cookie, and every pain we shared?”

He didn’t flinch or answer any of my questions. The silence between us was heavy. My chest tightened, and my hands itched to force the truth out of him.

I pushed on. “Do you remember the gardens? The afternoons we ran until we collapsed in the grass? Do you remember the nights I cried, and how you were the only one who hugged me?”

“At least try, try and remember something”. I screamed out of desperation.

He gave nothing back, just a small tilt of his head. My chest burned with anger, frustration, and despair. The boy I had loved and trusted for so many years was gone. In his place stood a calm stranger, acting a part that didn’t feel real.

Edward walked in on us as he reassured me that everything would be fine, his hand near mine to calm me. He was steady as always, reminding me that someone was still familiar. I tried to ignore the comfort he offered. I didn’t want comfort. I wanted answers. I wanted my brother back.

As the week passed by, the estate buzzed with preparations for the Hart ball we held every weekend: chandeliers shining, silverware polished, flowers arranged just right. Every whisper, every look, every detail seemed to focus on him, only him, the stranger pretending to be my brother. The house was full of excitement as the family got ready to show him off and secure his place in our home and company.

I tried to avoid him and ignore the whole situation, but I always felt people watching me. Everyone expected me to welcome, accept, and celebrate him if my feelings didn't matter. But the idea made my blood boil. This was not my brother. He could never be my brother. I pressed my fingers into my gown and stared at him across the room, a cold knot of doubt in my chest. Everything about him, his calm, his poise, his unreadable face, felt strange and wrong. Still, the family acted as if he had always belonged. My heart and mind fought, and I couldn’t stop wondering and thinking: could this stranger really be the brother I lost years ago?