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FRIDAY, JULY 19TH, 2024: 1 P.M.

"Ty baby, what's wrong?" My husband Matias asked, as I sat on the floor wailing like a baby.

"M-mwyy." I tried to say, but I just couldn't get the words out.

"Come mi amour." He said, getting on the floor with me then he pulled me inside of his lap.

"Shh, take your time baby. I'll be here to listen when you're ready to speak." He soothed, while rubbing my back then he placed a light kiss on my forehead.


How could Tribe be alive when I saw his body laid in the casket at his funeral? How could my family betray me and tell me my twin was gone forever and was never coming back? Why would they do this to me? To us?

Tribe and I were inseparable growing up like any other set of twins. We did everything together, and my other siblings would be jealous because we spent so much time together and went on many adventures with one another while they stayed home and chose to be boring.

The last time I saw my brother was when I went out with my ex boyfriend. He didn't want me to leave because he had suspicions about him, but he wanted me to be free and have fun so he let me go. Did I fail to mention that he's older than me by 3 minutes, well he is.

Anyways, that night I ended up getting into a fight with my boyfriend and some other guys and I was bruised pretty badly but not as bad as them. I ended up getting held inside of a police car because the officer knew my parents so they called my dad, to come get me and once he got to the scene he was fairly disappointed.

He told me I would be sent to live with my auntie here in Spain, but before I could even say anything he told me my brother was shot and killed. That instantly broke my heart and I went into shock causing me to blackout.

When I woke up again, I wasn't in America. I was in Spain, away from everything and it brought so much confusion to me because I didn't know why I was here but then my parents began telling me Tribe was gone and once my dad shared the news I fell into a coma for about two months because my heart was failing.

They shared the news that have already buried him, but I still wanted a small funeral for myself because I wasn't there to attend the first one. We did this back in New York by the way, but as the funeral was coming to the end my parents asked me did I want to stay here or move back to Spain. I chose, Spain.

I chose Spain because I couldn't go back to living life in New York like everything was peaches and cream when my brother wasn't there and was never going to be there. Well until today.

He's alive.

He's breathing.

He's alive and he has forgotten all about me.

"For 8 years, I believed my brother was dead and he's alive." I spoke shakily then everything went back.


"Mi dulce bebé." I heard softly, while my eyes began to slowly open again. (My sweet baby.)

"Yes, baby?" I answered, sitting up in our bed.

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