Gone.
Just like that.
Not that he should be surprised.
Even being caught in a small town, she never lost her city spunk.
On her eighteenth birthday, no one could find her.
Her room was intact.
No note.
Just gone.
No one really cried.
But no one really laughed either.
Except Daphne.
She poured buckets.
Then she laughed.
Like she realized she should have seen this coming.
Like she should have know her sister would leave the first chance she got.
He knew.
He knew for a long time.
She begged for out of town missions and assignments.
She read travel magazines and newspapers, studied geography, history, world cultures, and a variety of languages.
She even memorized train schedules.
Even though he knew for years, he still went into the deepest part of his room and screamed.
Things changed since when she first got here.
He thought that they changed.
That maybe she would stay,
for him.