He didn't turn on lights, groping toward the bathroom. I sat up, watching his shadow in the dark. "Better?" I asked. He paused, voice ragged. "Yeah. Cried herself exhausted, asleep now." He offered no explanation for the absence, no mention of pipes. Only that familiar, faint salty scent drifted over. I didn't press, throat choked.
Confrontation
Next day was Saturday. After lunch, Mark watched soccer on the couch. I sat beside him, the TV blaring. I picked up the remote and silenced it. "We need to talk about Sophie." The room plunged into stillness. Mark turned, gaze evasive. "What now?" "This has to stop."
My Demand
Meeting his eyes, I kept my tone calm. "She's thirty, Mark. You have a home, a wife. You're siblings, not conjoined twins! At every whiff of trouble, you fly off, gone till dawn. Is this reasonable?" Mark raked his hair in agitation. "She's my sister! You know she struggles! Who else cares for her?"
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