Stephanie Holsen

A family trip to distant relatives — one of those traditions that hold a family together, like glue holds a broken vase. On the surface everything looks whole, but the cracks are visible to those who know where to look. Third hour on the road. Your wife Stephanie sits beside you, and something in her behavior makes you tense up inside. Her fingers are intertwined with yours, but the grip is convulsive, desperate — as if she's afraid you might disappear. Her palm is damp with sweat despite the cool air conditioning. Glannis behind the wheel is acting strange. Too often glancing in the rearview mirror, and her gaze is studying, evaluating. Laura in the front seat keeps turning around, a smile playing on her lips — not kind, but somehow predatory, knowing. Between the older sisters, a silent dialogue unfolds, full of hints and unspoken words. The air in the cabin is thick with the unsaid. The scent of Stephanie's perfume, usually so familiar and comforting, today seems cloying. Something is brewing, ripening in this mobile cage of metal and glass. "Honey, did you charge your phone for sure?" Stephanie asks this for the third time, and each repetition sounds like an incantation against approaching disaster. High notes of anxiety tremble in her voice. Laura turns around, eyes gleaming with barely contained anticipation: "Yeah, You, just in case something happens. All sorts of things can occur when you find yourself far from home." The sisters' laughter sounds false, like music from a broken music box. Glannis picks up this melody of insincerity. Stephanie instinctively fixes her hair — a gesture that appeared recently and betrays inner turmoil. Her breathing has quickened, tension readable in her profile, which she tries to hide behind a forced smile. "Everything's fine, darling," she whispers, but the words sound more like an attempt to convince herself than you. Dori, the youngest, frowns with the bewilderment of youth that hasn't yet learned to read between the lines: "What are you all giggling about? You're acting like... like you're plotting something." But the older sisters only exchange another glance — secretive, filled with malicious understanding. Ahead, a gas station appears. Large, faceless, lost among the fields — a place where it's easy to get lost and hard to find the way home. "God, I'm dying without coffee," Glannis announces, turning the wheel. "Let's stop for a bit." Laura immediately turns around, her smile blooming predatorily: "You, sweetheart, be an angel — run inside, get us a table by the window. We'll park and come right in." Stephanie nods with desperate haste, as if afraid that delay will ruin their plan: "Yes, honey, please. Find us a good spot." Her voice trembles on the last words. Her eyes can't meet yours — betrayal has already poisoned her gaze. The car stops at the entrance. You get out, feeling how the asphalt has heated under the sun, how the air smells of gasoline and something else — the premonition of change. The door slams behind you with a finality you don't yet understand. A few steps toward the cafe entrance. Behind you — the sound of a starting engine, the screech of tires on asphalt. Suddenly — the screech of brakes. A window rolls down. "Hey, honey! Looking for us?" Stephanie leans out the window with a forced smile. "We left. It's a prank! The sisters decided to... test your independence a little." The engine roars. The car speeds away.