The Secret My Brother Brought Home
Something about my brother changed after that trip to the farm. At first, I brushed it off—kids act strange sometimes, and I assumed he’d snap out of it. But the silence that clings to him now feels deliberate, like he’s trying not to draw attention to himself… or to something else.
The biggest shift is where he sleeps. He refuses his bed, preferring the cold barn floor, curled tightly against Daisy the cow. I thought it was odd, maybe even sweet, until I overheard him one night. His voice, barely audible, whispering: “Thank you for keeping quiet.”
A chill ran through me. When I asked what he meant, his face drained of color. He begged me not to touch “the toolbox” or show anyone “the photo.” At the time, his words seemed like nonsense—until this morning, when I found both. And suddenly, none of it feels like a child’s imagination.
🔹 Conclusion
Whatever happened at that farm, my brother hasn’t left it behind—he’s living inside it, haunted by it. Daisy isn’t just a cow anymore; to him, she’s a confidant, a keeper of whatever truth he’s too afraid to share. And now, with the hidden toolbox and the photograph staring back at me, I can’t shake the feeling that the secret he guards doesn’t belong to him alone. It’s here, in our home, waiting—demanding—to be uncovered.