He’s different. Maya, he listens. I warned her not to get distracted. But when she brought him home that Thanksgiving, I saw what she meant. Adrienne was respectful, grounded. He washed dishes with mama like he’d grown up in our kitchen. And most importantly, he looked at Laya as though she carried the world in her eyes.

They married under sprawling oaks and seabbes. A few years later, I stood in a secondhand dress, watching my twin in white lace, radiant. She whispered to me before walking down the aisle. I’m happy, Maya. Really happy. And I answered the only way I knew. Then I’m happy, too. Adrienne built a career, and together they built a life. Ocean views, laughter, security.

Laya sent me photos of sunrises from their porch, urging me to visit. I stayed put, anchored in Riverton, but proud of her every step. Then the storm came, not from the sea, but from Adrienne’s own body. An illness doctors couldn’t cure. I drove through the night to be by her side. Adrienne’s final words to me were simple.

Take care of her. And a month later, he was gone. At the lawyer’s office, we learned Adrienne had left everything to Laya. $46 million in assets, their home and his shares in the family company. Laya’s hand clutched mine until my fingers achd. I don’t want this without him,” she whispered. I told her the truth. He wanted you safe. He wanted you to live.

But money isn’t just a blessing. Sometimes it’s a curse. And it didn’t take long for that curse to find us. Starting with the very people who had raised us. The first time I saw the yacht, I knew it didn’t belong in our story. It gleamed like something out of a magazine. Polished decks, chrome railings that caught the sun, cabins lined with velvet and glass.

Ila gripped my hand like she was trying to pull me into her hope. Just us again, Maya. Like when we were kids. The captain, a wiry man with stormworn eyes, introduced the crew. Miles, a technician, and Derek, a young deckhand. They were polite enough, but something about the way they avoided my eyes made me uneasy.

We left the marina on a clear morning, the ocean stretched wide as a promise. Ila stood at the bow, braids whipping across her shoulders, laughter spilling into the wind. “Remember Riverton Creek?” she called. “This is like that, only bigger.” I smiled, but a knot stayed tight in my chest. The first day passed easily.

We sipped fruit juice on the deck, swapped stories about our childhood hiding spots, and for a moment, I forgot the weight of loss on her shoulders. Leila’s laughter reminded me of nights under our blanket fort when imagination was the only thing keeping us warm. But by the second evening, the sky turned sour.

Clouds stacked heavy on the horizon. The wind clawed at the sails and the radio crackled into silence. The captain’s voice stayed calm. Just a passing storm, but I saw his knuckles whiten on the wheel. By dawn, the ocean had become a living monster. Waves rose like walls slamming against the hull. Ila’s nails dug into my arm. “Maya, I can’t.

Hold on,” I told her, dragging her into the cabin. My own voice shook, but I couldn’t let her hear fear in it. Then came the explosion. A sound that ripped through the boat from below. Miles shouted, “Engineges gone. We can’t steer.” The vessel lurched, throwing us against the walls. Windows shattered. Water surged inside.

I pulled Yayla into a life jacket, forcing her hands onto mine. No matter what happens, don’t let go of me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she nodded. The next wave swallowed us whole. Cold water slammed into my lungs. I fought for the surface, coughing, spitting, searching. “Layla!” I screamed into the roar.

The ocean answered with debris, a broken chair, a strip of canvas, but no sister. I dove once, twice, lat my arms burning. I surfaced again, screaming her name until my throat tore. Another wave dragged me under. I clawed back to the surface, clutching a splintered board. Hours blurred into darkness. When the Coast Guard search light finally cut through the night, I barely managed to raise a hand.

They hauled me aboard, wrapping me in a blanket that felt too thin against the cold inside me. “Any survivors?” I croked. The officer shook his head. “Well keep looking, but so far, nothing.” I collapsed, tears mixing with seaater. The image of Yla’s face disappearing beneath the waves carved itself into me. At the hospital, machines beeped steadily as if mocking my broken rhythm.

I replayed every choice, agreeing to this trip, not trusting my gut, letting Mama and Daddy push us into it. My body healed, but my soul didn’t. Two days later, Mama and Daddy walked into my room. Mama wore her church scarf, daddy his old brown jacket. From the doorway, they might have looked like grieving parents, but I knew their eyes.