sibling discussion

You turn from the window, and David is still standing there in the living room doorway, arms crossed, staring at you with naked disgust.

"I mean it," he says. "You're a fucking idiot."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Too bad. You're gonna hear it." He stalks into the room, plants himself between you and the stairs. "You just let her leave. With Dad. For a whole weekend. Do you have any idea what they're going to do?"

"I know exactly what they're going to do."

"Then why didn't you stop her?"

"How?" The word comes out harsher than you intend. "How was I supposed to stop her, David? Lock her in her room? Forbid her from going?"

"You could've told her you love her. You could've kissed her. You could've done literally anything except stand there like a statue while she walked out the door."

"It's not that simple—"

"Yes, it is!" David's voice rises. "It's exactly that simple! She's Allison. She's your girlfriend. Or she was, before you decided her face was more important than who she actually is."

"That's not fair."

"Nothing about this is fair!" He throws his hands up. "You think this is easy for her? Being stuck in Mom's body? Having everyone look at her and see someone else? She died, Tim. She fucking died, and they put her in the wrong body, and now she has to pretend to be someone else for the rest of her life. And you—the one person who's supposed to love her no matter what—you can't even touch her."

The accusation hangs between you.

"So yeah," David continues, quieter now. "She found someone who can. Someone who wants her. And you get to sit here and feel sorry for yourself while Dad takes your girlfriend to wine country and fucks her in some fancy hotel room."

You flinch. David sees it, and something in his expression hardens.

"You did this," he says. "You pushed her away. And now you get to live with it."

He turns to leave, but Tabitha's voice stops him.

"That's enough, David."

She's sitting on the couch, so small and still that you didn't notice her. She must've been there the whole time, watching. Her face is serious, composed in that unnerving way she has.

"What? You think I'm wrong?" David gestures at you. "Look at him. He's miserable. And it's his own damn fault."

"I didn't say you were wrong." Tabitha stands, walks over to stand next to David. United front. "I just think yelling at him isn't going to help."

"Then what will?"

"Talking." She looks at you, and her eyes are too old for thirteen. "Sit down, Tim."

It's not a request. You sink onto the couch like a puppet with cut strings.

Tabitha settles into the armchair across from you. David hovers near the doorway, still bristling.

"I've been talking to Allison a lot this week," Tabitha says. "Every night, actually. After you guys go to bed. She comes to my room, and we talk."

You hadn't known that. The knowledge sits uncomfortably in your chest.

"What does she say?"

"That she's scared." Tabitha's voice is matter-of-fact. "That she doesn't know who she is anymore. That every time she looks in the mirror, she sees Mom's face, and it makes her want to scream. But she can't scream. She has to be Jennifer. For the lawyers, for the hospital, for Dad. And for you."

"For me?"

"Because you can't handle Allison in Mom's body. So she thought if she became Jennifer—really became her—then maybe you could love her again. But it didn't work. You still can't touch her." Tabitha leans forward. "So now she's trying something else."

"Sleeping with Dad."

"Loving Dad," Tabitha corrects. "Or trying to. She thinks maybe if she commits to being Jennifer, if she steps into that life completely, then at least she'll have someone. And Dad wants her. He thinks she's his ex-wife, yeah, but he wants her. He looks at her like she's the most important person in the world. When's the last time you looked at her like that?"

The words cut deeper than David's anger.

"I can't," you whisper. "I see Mom's face, and my brain just—shuts down. I know it's Allison. I know it. But my body doesn't believe it."

"Then you need to train it to believe." Tabitha's gaze doesn't waver. "Because right now, you're losing her. She's choosing Dad. Not to hurt you—although yeah, that's part of it—but because she needs to survive. She needs to be loved. And if you won't do it, someone else will."

"She told you this?"

"Not in those words. But yeah." Tabitha sits back, and for a moment she looks young again. Tired. "Last night, she cried. In my room. She tried to hide it, but I could tell. She said she was happy about the trip, about Dad, about having a second chance. But then she said—" Tabitha's voice softens. "She said she wished it was you."

Your throat closes.

"She loves you, Tim. She still loves you. But she can't keep waiting for you to figure your shit out. So she's moving on. With Dad. And honestly?" Tabitha meets your eyes. "I think she'd be a good mom. Or stepmom. Or whatever."

You stare at her. "What?"

"If you don't want her as your girlfriend, then maybe she should be with Dad. She's good with us. She listens. She cares. She's not our old mom—she's too young, too different—but she's trying. And David and I—" She glances at her brother. "We like her. As Jennifer, I mean. As the person living in this house."

David nods, ****. "She makes good pancakes."

"She does," Tabitha agrees. "And she asks about our day. And she doesn't expect us to be perfect all the time, like Mom did. She's just... there. Present. And Dad's happy. Happier than I've seen him since before the divorce."

"So you're saying I should just—what? Let them be together?"

"I'm saying Allison needs someone to love her." Tabitha's voice is gentle but firm. "Especially now. She died, Tim. She lost everything. Her body, her life, her parents—she had to watch them bury her. Can you imagine that? And now she's trapped in this weird in-between, where she has to be someone else just to survive. So yeah. She needs love. She needs someone to hold her and tell her it's going to be okay. And if that someone is Dad, instead of some random guy she meets at a bar or online or wherever—isn't that better?"

The logic is sound. Horrible, but sound.

"She's my girlfriend," you say weakly.

"Is she?" Tabitha tilts her head. "You haven't touched her in two weeks. You won't kiss her. You can barely look at her. At what point does she stop being your girlfriend and start being something else?"

You don't have an answer.

"Dad doesn't know it's Allison," Tabitha continues. "To him, she's Jennifer. His ex-wife, the woman he was married to for eighteen years, the mother of his children. And if they get back together—if they remarry, even—then Allison gets to stay in our lives. She gets to be part of this family. Legally, permanently. Instead of just... existing in limbo."

"You're talking about her marrying Dad."

"I'm talking about her having a future." Tabitha's expression is serious. "Right now, she's eighteen years old in a forty-year-old body. She can't go back to school. She can't be Allison anymore. She has to be Jennifer. So doesn't it make sense for her to actually live Jennifer's life? Be Jennifer's wife, raise Jennifer's kids, have the stability that comes with that?"

"With my father."

"With someone who wants her," Tabitha says quietly. "Someone who can look at her without flinching. Someone who can love her in the body she has, not the body you wish she had."

The words land like stones.

David pushes off the doorframe, comes to sit on the arm of Tabitha's chair. "Look, man. I get it. This sucks. It's fucked up and wrong and I hate it too. I don't want to think about Dad and—and Allison. But Tabitha's right. She needs someone. And better it's Dad than some stranger. At least this way, she stays with us. She's safe."

"Safe," you repeat.

"Yeah. Safe." David's jaw tightens. "You know what the alternative is? She moves out. Finds some apartment somewhere, starts over as Jennifer Connors, widow or divorcee or whatever, and tries to build a life alone. Forty years old, no job history as Jennifer, no friends, no support system. How long do you think she lasts before she breaks?"

"Or," Tabitha adds, "she finds someone else. Some guy who sees a beautiful woman and doesn't know about the transplant, doesn't know she's Allison, doesn't know anything except she looks like Mom. And maybe he's nice. Or maybe he's not. But either way, she's gone. Out of our lives. And you never get her back."

The scenarios spin out in your head, each one worse than the last.

"At least with Dad," Tabitha says, "we know her. We can take care of her. And she can take care of us. It's not perfect. It's really, really not perfect. But it's better than the alternatives."

Silence settles over the room. You sit with your head in your hands, trying to process what your thirteen-year-old sister just laid out with terrifying clarity.

"When did you get so smart?" you ask finally.

"Someone has to be." Tabitha stands, walks over to sit next to you on the couch. She's small, barely comes up to your shoulder, but when she puts her hand on your arm, the gesture feels protective. "I don't want to lose her either, Tim. She's not Mom. But she's ours now. And if the only way to keep her is to let her be with Dad, then... maybe that's what has to happen."

"I can't just—"

"You already did." David's voice is flat. "You let her go. You watched her leave. And in three days, when she comes back, she's going to be different. More his than yours. You made your choice."

"I didn't choose—"

"You chose not to fight," Tabitha says gently. "And that's a choice too."

She squeezes your arm once, then stands. David follows her out, leaving you alone in the living room with the weight of their words pressing down on your chest.

Through the window, the street is empty. Normal. Like nothing's changed.

But everything has.

Your girlfriend is in Napa Valley with your father, probably in bed with him right now, and your siblings think that's the best possible outcome.

Maybe they're right.

Maybe Allison does need to become Jennifer. Maybe that's the only way she survives this.

And maybe you need to let her go.

The thought should bring relief. Closure. Something.

Instead, it just makes you feel hollow.

You sit on the couch until the light fades, and the house grows dark around you, and somewhere in California, Allison is learning to be Jennifer in ways you'll never be able to undo.