Everything stilled.

The men seemed just as shocked as me, eyes all locked on my brother.

Without warning, Daddy launched himself at the men, stealing the man’s gun and hitting them both with it over and over. He attacked them like a wild animal. I could almost have convinced myself the whole thing was a scene from the movie we’d just watched. How else could my daddy be fighting like one of the spies on the big screen?

The bad men tried to hurt him, and I wanted desperately to scream for them to stop, but I couldn’t make a sound. It wouldn’t have mattered. Daddy was quicker than either of them, punching and kicking, pounding on the men until both were on the ground unmoving, and still he kept at them.

Eventually, he slowed, his chest heaving up and down as he glared at the men, then lowered himself to look at one of their hands. When he stood back up, he spat on each of them and turned to Marco. Daddy walked slowly to my brother’s side and dropped to his knees, placing his hands gently on Marco’s chest and bowing his head, but Marco never moved.

Why isn’t he moving? Why isn’t Daddy taking Marco to the doctor? Why is Daddy crying? Questions and panic raced through my mind, but even at five years old, I knew the answers.

I knew that my big brother was dead.

I simply couldn’t face it.

My entire world had shattered, but I was in shock.

Daddy stood and pulled out his phone, making a call before returning to the car. He thought I was asleep. I wasn’t supposed to have seen what happened. I knew that like I knew my own name. What I’d seen had been very, very bad. Without a second thought, I slammed my eyes closed. I didn’t want him to know that I’d been awake and wanted to hide from everything that had happened. If I closed my eyes, maybe when I opened them, I would discover it had all been a mistake.

I could feel his gaze on me as I sat there motionless, head resting against the seat. I pretended to sleep, desperately hoping it was all a bad dream.

But it wasn’t a dream or even a nightmare.

We sat silent in the car for a short while until another car arrived. In the heavy darkness, Daddy never saw the streaks of tears soaking my face. He rolled down the window, whispering softly to the men from the other car. Then we drove away, leaving Marco on the cold city sidewalk.

I never saw my big brother again.

For as long as I could remember, I’d felt like an imposter. I looked like Sofia Genovese, and everyone believed I was her, but only I knew that Sofia had died many years ago.

Perhaps that was a little dramatic.

A part of the old Sofia was still present—she showed herself in every conversation I had with my parents—but she didn’t feel real. She was the mask I wore to cover up everything else I hid inside. But with each passing day, every birthday and milestone, she made fewer and fewer appearances. As I stepped out of The October Company art gallery where I would be working at my first real job, I could envision the day when I might be free to be myself around the people who were supposed to be closest to me—my family.