Léa arrived first, Camille just after, Théo a little later. They stepped inside with polite smiles and parcels wrapped in bright paper. From the outside, nothing seemed wrong. Yet once we sat down, I could feel the distance. Their greetings were warm, but their minds were elsewhere. I noticed how often their eyes darted toward their phones or the hallway clock. They had barely taken their first sip of wine before conversations about leaving early began. A work call later that night. A friend waiting. A promise made somewhere else.
I insisted that they stay at least until the cake was ready. They agreed, but I could see it was compliance, not desire. The meal I spent hours preparing remained untouched. My husband and I reheated everything for days after.
When siblings grow apart
What follows me like a shadow isn’t the fact they left so quickly. It is the realization that the bond between them has thinned without us noticing. Léa and Camille, once inseparable, seemed to speak to each other like distant acquaintances, polite and careful. No conflict, no harsh words, just a cold absence. Théo, meanwhile, hovered like a visitor from another planet, distracted and eager to escape.