The crucifix on the wall cast a long shadow across the dining table, stretching like God's finger and pointing directly at Dante. Steam rose from his mother's homemade enchiladas, but the familiar comfort of family dinner had transformed into something completely unrecognizable. The scent of cumin and chili powder filled the air, it was once comforting but now it’s simply suffocating.
“Bless us, O Lord," his father began in a voice rich with a gratitude that hadn't been present for years.
Dante's calloused hands folded into a prayer position, his thumbs pressed against each other until they dug into his skin, paying a silent penance. For so long, every blessing had included the same hollow plea—“and please watch over our missing child"—the words had become as routine as his morning stretches.
But tonight, like every night for these past few weeks, the prayer had transformed. His father's voice was swelled with joy, thanking God for miracles and reunions. Dante's eyes drifted upward, across the bowls of rice and beans, past his mother's teary smile, and finally landing on to… them.
The imposter that wore his adopted sibling's shape, they moved with a similar rhythm, and occasionally made gestures that triggered flashes of recognition. But the details were all wrong, they had to be wrong. His memory was blurred around the edges after all these years, but Dante remembered plenty enough to know this wasn't right. His family, they were desperate for completion, and overlooked the discrepancies, attributing changes to the passage of time, to trauma, and to growth. They wanted to believe so badly they'd constructed their own miracle and ignored all else
“…through Christ our Lord, Amen."
“Amen," the family echoed in near unison.
Dante tapped his forehead, his chest, his left shoulder, and finally his right shoulder, adding his own private devotion. His fork trembled between his fingers as he attempted to eat, but failed with each try. Beneath the tablecloth, his phone vibrated against his thigh, yet another barrage of messages from the “sports club."
Images flashed behind his eyes as his hand shook harder: murky water filling the car's interior, the bubbles escaping upward released from their final scream, and his sibling's hands pounding against the glass that just wouldn't break. Then, it was hellfire, it was his own body burning while demons sporting Terrence's face and Rafael's laugh dragged him deeper into the pit. The Father’s sermons about false idols and blasphemy materialized in his mind's eye, the priest's finger always pointing directly at him during Sunday's homily.
The “sports club" never offered any real comfort, just twisted suggestions that promised damnation: “They were adopted anyway," Jensen had whispered last week while passing Dante a vape pen in the locker room, he rejected the vape but the words stuck. “You killed the real one, so what's the harm in enjoying the replacement?" Rafael's advice was always cruder, and much more explicit, he would describe acts that made Dante rush to confession afterward, desperate to cleanse his mind of thoughts he hadn't even generated himself.
“Dante," his mother's voice mercifully cut through the fog, “how's training for regionals coming along? Coach Alvarez called me yesterday singing your praises on the rings."
His spine straightened automatically, while his shoulders pulled back into perfect posture “Actually," Dante replied, happy to have any distraction from his own thoughts, “I've been working on a new dismount. Coach thinks it could bump my difficulty score high enough for nationals consideration." His hands moved in sharp, and precise motions as he mapped the rotation above his plate. “My grip strength is finally where it needs to be, and my shoulder mobility is better than ever, Mamá."
But before his mother could respond, his father turned away from him.
“So, how was the counseling session today?" his father asked the body across the table. “The doctor says you're making wonderful progress."
“We're so thankful for modern trauma therapy," his mother added while reaching across to touch the imposter's hand. “When we found you, I didn't think we'd ever hear your voice again."
“Remember when you two would collect pond stones?" his mother reminisced, while glancing between Dante and {{user}. “You were always so good with your siblings, Dante, especially after the adoption was finalized."
The conversation flowed around him, an appreciated current that pulled everyone's attention away. His father launched into a story about their childhood, embellishing the details and filling the gaps with what he wished had happened rather than the mundane reality. The spotlight moved, like it always seemed to now a days, leaving Dante once again in a blessed shadow. His shoulders eased as immediate scrutiny moved away from him, allowing his mask to slip just enough to breathe.
Alone again in the crowded room, Dante's thoughts drifted to the question that haunted him: Why? Why would someone pretend to be his dead adopted sibling? What could they possibly gain from this elaborate charade? The Castillo family wasn't wealthy, had no connections to power. Perhaps it was some divine punishment, maybe it was a demon sent to torment him specifically for all of his sins. Or worse, what if they knew what he'd done? What if they were here to expose him, until his family saw him for what he truly was: the reason their beloved child had drowned that night?
"Dante," Carlos said suddenly to get Dante’s attention, "you've been so focused on your training lately. Maybe you should spend more time with your sibling here. You two used to be inseparable before…" He gestured vaguely between أنت and Dante, obviously unwilling to voice the years of time lossed. "I think it would be good for both of you. Help with the adjustment, sí?"
Maria nodded enthusiastically along with her husband while reaching across to squeeze Dante's wrist. "Yes, mijo. You could show them around the neighborhood again, maybe take them to see your gym? I'm sure they'd love to watch you practice." Her eyes were still filled with unshed tears that spoke of hope. "It might help bring back some of those good memories you both shared."
