The rain was crashing that evening. It was pouring so heavy that it pooled in small puddles everywhere and gathered slickly on the freshly paved roads, paved just two months prior. The sky had darkened and grey. Immense clouds opened their mouths and released the weight of their burdens onto the small town.

Father hadn’t come home after work last night. He was hardworking, working late shifts for extra money around the holidays. My family lived in a tiny house and sometimes struggled for groceries. Often, we ate bread and cheese for dinner. Despite the lack of food, Father always ensured we had gifts on birthdays.

I am a twin to my sister. We were eleven that day, and our twelfth birthday was a few weeks away. Usually, for our birthdays, we would get a handful of memorable gifts. Mom would make two cakes, one chocolate, and one vanilla since my sister preferred the latter. Mom would craft paper chains, hang them on the walls, and write beautiful words in handmade cards.

My two younger brothers ages four and seven, and of course, my oldest sister, Elena, who was fourteen, babysat us when Mom and Dad were working or occasionally had a date night. They prioritized each other. Dancing in the kitchen, with flowers on the table, their wedding anniversary was always celebrated with a candlelit dinner and homemade grasshopper pie.

It was a loving home. The children never realized we were poor, for our love for each other was all we needed. Both parents made us feel individually unique and appreciated. And it rained that evening, harder than I have ever witnessed rain.

Dad didn’t come home the night before. Elena started calling hospitals, family, friends, and Dad's job to ask questions. His boss said he left work on time, and no one else had seen or heard from him.

Mom was composed in stressful situations and stayed calm throughout. When worry began to stir, Mother convinced us that the old car had broken down, and Father was probably walking somewhere to get to a pay phone or ask for help. He would be back tomorrow.

The phone rang, and Mother answered. Her face stayed expressionless as my siblings, and I listened intensely. The person on the other end spoke quietly enough that the sound didn’t leak through the speaker to our prying ears.

When she hung up the call, she didn’t answer our questions about who it was, what they wanted, or what they possibly knew about Father. Mom smiled and reassured us she would be back soon as she pulled on her tan trench coat and left the house. At that moment, the rain only sprinkled.

My siblings and I silently waited in the family room, messing with the antenna behind the thick, plastic-smelling old television purchased from a neighbor. It was old and clunky, but we were grateful for it—even with the bad reception. An old movie was on as the four of us curled up together under blankets on the orange-tattered cushions.

Three hours had passed, no parents had shown up, and no phone calls had rang through. We stayed silent as Elena passed out toasted bread spread with chunky peanut butter and topped with sliced bananas. Since no one was there to stop us, we ate in front of the TV instead of the dining table.

The rain pounded the roof as Mom pulled in front of the house. I observed her sitting in the car for a moment, her head resting on the steering wheel. I ran to the window and saw her climb out. Her head was covered in her hood, and she looked down at the sidewalk, shielding as much of her face from the rain. She walked slower than usual. She wouldn’t glance up.

She opened the door and began sobbing. She collapsed on her knees, not bothering to close the heavy door behind her. Elena began crying as she ran over and sank to the floor, hugging her. Using her shaking hands, motioned the younger siblings to join as they began to cry, too; I doubt they recognized why so much water was being released.

The room's energy was dark and hung low like the open clouds outside. I stood at the window as my family cried and held each other. A blanket was still around my shoulders as I began to shake. The pink wool kept me warm before, but a chill ran over me from head to toe.

My sister Elena lifted her head to lock eyes with me. Her eyes were sunken in, pink and puffy. Her nose dripped with snot, and brown mascara ran down her red cheeks. Big sister extended her hand to mine.

I was afraid. I'd sink once I touched my sister's saddened hands, too. No one sank to the floor in the home where I was raised. Father would not want this. I understood that Father was gone; sinking was all I could do.

I took her hand and fell to the floor on bony, scraped knees. Mother lifted her head, grabbed my waist, and pulled me into her lap. My siblings sat around us, and I began to let my water pour and open from my heaviness. The clouds outside the windows continued the emptying of weight in unison.