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❧ sometimes all you need is a hug from your big brother ❧

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July 17th, 1953

The dining room of the Everhart household was an exercise in controlled elegance. A heavy mahogany table, polished to gleam, stretched through the center of the room, its surface gleaming under the soft light of the chandelier overhead. The floral-patterned wallpaper, faded slightly from years of sunlight, framed the room in muted tones of gold and green.

Amalie sat at one end of the table, feeling the weight of the evening settle over her. It was her 18th birthday — an occasion that felt more like an obligation than a celebration. To her left sat her mother, Nancy, her posture as straight and proper as always. She wore a neat, pale blue dress, her dark hair pulled into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck. Next to her, Arthur, Amalie's father, was nearly her mirror image. He, too, sat rigidly, his fingers laced neatly in front of him, his steel-gray suit pressed to perfection. It was a strange thing, Amalie thought, how alike her parents were. They moved in sync, spoke in the same clipped, measured tones, and even their rare smiles were identical — a slight, polite upturn of the lips that never quite reached their eyes.

Her brother, Oliver, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. Sitting to Amalie's right, he was slouched casually in his chair, one elbow propped on the armrest as he reached for a roll. His dark hair fell into his eyes in an unruly mess that he hadn't bothered to fix, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the elbows, revealing the faint traces of ink stains on his wrists from some project he'd been working on earlier.

"I guess you're officially a grown-up now, huh, Mals?" Oliver said, using the nickname he'd given her years ago, back when they were kids.

Amalie shrugged, trying to smile. "I guess."

"Well, don't be too excited," Oliver teased, leaning over conspiratorially. "Being an adult is mostly about pretending you know what you're doing while secretly wishing you could take a nap."

"Oliver," Nancy said sharply, her eyes cutting toward him in disapproval. "Honestly, it's her birthday. Can't you be serious for once?"

Oliver leaned back in his chair, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm serious!" He gestured toward the spread of food — roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans sauteed with almonds, and the rich scent of gravy that filled the room. "I mean, look at this! Can we talk about how amazing this looks? It's a miracle we didn't just throw Amalie a cake and call it a night."

Arthur cleared his throat, his gaze still fixed on his plate as he cut into his chicken with precise, careful strokes. "It's a family dinner, Oliver, not a circus. We don't need theatrics."

Amalie's smile faltered slightly, though Oliver's attempt at lightening the mood had helped ease some of the awkwardness. Her parents had always been this way — formal, distant, like strangers inhabiting the same house. They didn't dislike her, not exactly, but there had always been something missing between them, a gap they didn't know how to bridge. Growing up, the conversations had been polite, but never warm, never full of the laughter or affection she'd always imagined other families shared.

"So," Nancy said, cutting through the silence that followed, "eighteen. That's an important year, isn't it?"

Amalie nodded, unsure of what to say. "I guess so."

Oliver, sensing the growing discomfort in the room, jumped in again. "Eighteen is great. You can vote now, you know. And you can get into real trouble if you decide to go around egging houses or whatever."

Nancy's lips pressed together in disapproval, but Arthur's eyes flickered with something close to amusement, though he didn't comment.

"I don't think Amalie is the type to go around vandalizing the neighborhood," Arthur said dryly, his tone carrying that same measured calm as always.

"Sure, sure," Oliver agreed, undeterred. "But just in case you're thinking about it, Mals. I'll drive the getaway car, no questions asked."

Amalie couldn't help but smile, her brother's easy charm making the weight in the room a little lighter. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Honestly, Oliver," Nancy said again, though this time her voice was softer, more exasperated than anything else. "You're supposed to be setting a good example."

Oliver gave a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. "And here I thought my job was to make sure the birthday girl was having a good time."

For a few moments, there was a brief, comfortable lull in the conversation as they focused on the food. Amalie's thoughts drifted, the soft clink of silverware providing a background hum. She glanced at her parents from time to time, watching as their main focus was on eating — cutting their food, sipping their wine.

Oliver, on the other hand, was always in motion. His foot tapped under the table, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. He was the only one who brought any real energy to the room, the only one who could inject life into the carefully controlled stillness that always seemed to hang over their family gatherings.

"So, Mals," Oliver said after a while, turning to her with a grin, "you've got any big plans now that you're all grown up?"

Amalie hesitated. She wasn't sure how to answer that. Big plans? Did she have any? Her whole life, the curse had been this shadow hanging over her, defining her in ways she couldn't fully escape. And now, on the cusp of adulthood, she still didn't know what to do with herself.

"I don't know," she said quietly, pushing her food around her plate. "I guess I haven't really thought about it."

"Oh, come on," Oliver said, leaning closer. "You've got to have some idea. A trip? A wild party? Or are you going full recluse and becoming one of those mysterious artists who only come out at night to paint?"

Amalie laughed softly, shaking her head. "I think I'm leaning more toward 'full recluse.'"

"Well, may you haunt these halls and freak out all the neighborhood kids," Oliver laughed.

Nancy stiffened at the mention of "haunting," her fork pausing mid-air. "Oliver, really — "

Arthur, however, cut in before Nancy could scold him further. "You Aunt Maggie sent a card," he said, his tone as neutral as ever, but there was a heaviness behind his words. He didn't look at Amalie, keeping his eyes on his plate as he spoke. "She wanted to be here tonight, but..."

"She's dealing with her own issues," Nancy finished, her voice a little too brisk, as though she wanted to move past the subject as quickly as possible.

Amalie tensed, the mention of Aunt Maggie casting a pall over the room. Maggie, her father's older sister, was the only other person in the family who shared Amalie's curse — the ability to see the dead. She had always been an unsettling figure in Amalie's life, hovering on the periphery like a ghost herself. Aunt Maggie had chosen isolation years ago, disappearing into a life of solitude to escape the constant haunting that plagued the Everhart women.

Amalie's voice was tight as she responded. "It's fine. I didn't expect her to come."

Nancy nodded, though her lips were pressed into a thin line. "Still, she said she might visit soon."

The atmosphere at the table shifted. The light-hearted mood Oliver had tried to maintain was slipping away, replaced by a thick, uncomfortable silence. Amalie could feel the distance between her and her parents growing wider with each passing second. The curse, though never explicitly mentioned, was always there, like a wall between them. They had never known how to handle it, never known how to handle her.

Oliver quickly jumped in again, though his smile was a little strained this time. "You know what? I've got an idea. Why don't we all go visit Aunt Maggie? A little family road trip. Get out of the house , stretch our legs. What do you think, Mals? A little adventure?"

Amalie forced a smile, though the idea of ​​visiting Maggie made her stomach twist. "I don't know, Ollie. I'm not sure that's a great idea."

Arthur's face tightened, his hand gripping his glass a little too hard. "Maggie doesn't need us crowding her. She's...fine on her own."

Nancy gave a small, tight nod in agreement, her voice measured as she added, "Yes, your dad's right. Maggie's always preferred her solitude." Her eyes flicked to Amalie, her expression unreadable. "She's dealing with things in her own way, as she always has."

The table fell into a silence that felt heavier than before, as though the weight of Maggie's absence was something they all felt but couldn't speak about. Amalie sat quietly, her thoughts swirling. Maggie had always been the cautionary tale in the family — the one who couldn't handle the curse. The one who had retreated into isolation, leaving everyone else to wonder what exactly went wrong.

Amalie wondered, not for the first time, if that would be her one day. Would she end up like Maggie? Alone, withdrawn, with nothing but the dead for company?

Oliver cleared his throat, leaning forward in his chair. "Well, if Aunt Maggie's a no-go, maybe we should do something else fun. Amalie, how about a birthday trip somewhere cool? Maybe California? The beach? Or — " He shot her a mischievous grin. "We could go to the city and see a show."

Amalie couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Maybe."

"Come on, Mals! It's your birthday. Let's go wild. You've got the whole world ahead of you now. No more excuses."

Nancy raised an eyebrow, her gaze shifting between them. "She doesn't need to be going wild, Oliver. Honestly, the last thing she needs is you encouraging her to get into trouble."

Oliver groaned, rolling his eyes. "Mom, I'm not saying she should rob a bank. I'm saying she should have some fun. Isn't that what being eighteen is all about?"

Arthur's fork clinked against the plate as he set it down, his brow furrowed as he finally looked directly at Amalie. "Eighteen is about responsibility. It's about becoming an adult and understanding that life doesn't revolve around fun and games." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it — a tension that hadn't been there before.

Amalie's stomach knotted. She could feel the conversation slipping into more dangerous territory. Birthdays had always felt strange in this family, especially hers. They were more of a formality, like today — acknowledged, but never truly celebrated. And now, with the awkwardness about the curse simmering just below the surface, it was getting harder to keep up the façade.

Oliver, ever the optimist, kept trying. "Okay, fine, responsible fun. Like...like..." He snapped his fingers, thinking for a moment. "Like a hike! That's responsible, right? Fresh air, nature , zero chance of causing any trouble." He grinned at Amalie, his brown eyes twinkling mischievously. "Unless you decide to go off-trail, in which case — "

"Oliver." Nancy's voice was sharp this time, cutting him off before he could finish. "That's enough."

The air in the room shifted again, the easy banter Oliver had tried so hard to maintain slipping away as the silence returned. Amalie's smile faded, the weight of her parents' expectations — unspoken but always present — settling over her like a heavy blanket. It wasn't just about the curse; it was about the fact that they didn't know her, had never really known her. The curse was simply the reason they gave themselves for why they kept their distance.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the soft clinking of silverware against plates, but even that felt oppressive. Amalie's appetite had long since, though she kept taking small bites, if only to keep her hands busy.

Arthur broke the silence next, his voice unnervingly calm, as always. "You'll be going to college soon, right?"

Amalie nodded, though the idea of ​​going to college didn't bring her any excitement. It was just another thing to do, another expectation to meet. "Yes."

"What are you planning to study?" He asked, though there was no real curiosity in his tone. It was a question for the sake of asking.

Amalie hesitated. "I haven't decided yet."

Nancy pursed her lips, a familiar look of mild disappointment crossing her face. "You should start thinking about it. You don't want to waste time."

Amalie nodded, her throat tightening. "I know."

"Don't worry about it, Mals," Oliver assured, his tone as serious as Oliver could be. "You've got plenty of time to figure it out."

Amalie smiled, grateful for her brother in the moment. Oliver was trying — he always tried — but even he couldn't fully shield her from the growing tension in the room.

Nancy set her fork down, the clink louder than it should have been in the stillness of the room. "I think we should bring out the cake," she said, her voice clipped as she stood, smoothing down her dress. "Amalie, you've barely touched your dinner. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I'm fine, Mom," Amalie replied, though she could hear the lie in her own voice.

"I'll help," Oliver said quickly, standing up and making his way toward the kitchen. As he walked by Amalie, he dragged his finger across the back of her neck, causing her to tense slightly and slap his hand away. She stifled a laugh, though, reminding her that, despite everything, at least Oliver could always make her smile.

Arthur remained at the table, his expression unreadable as he reached for his glass of wind. "Your mother and I only want what's best for you, Amalie," he said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the table.

Amalie swallowed, her throat dry. "I know."

Arthur nodded once, but the silence that followed was thick, heavy with the words they would never say to each other. Amalie stared at her plate, wishing she could just disappear, wishing she could find the words to explain how lonely she felt in this house, even when they were all together.

Oliver and Nancy returned a moment later, a modest birthday cake in Nancy's hands, the candles already lit. It was a simple cake — vanilla with pale pink frosting, nothing too extravagant. Nancy set it down in front of Amalie, her smile polite but distant.

"Make a wish," Oliver said with a grin, leaning over her shoulder. "And make it a good one."

Amalie stared at the flickering candles, the flames casting a soft glow on the room. Her family watched her expectantly, but the wish that rose to her mind was one she could never say aloud: I wish I wasn't alone.

She blew out the candles in one steady breath, and as the smoke curled up into the air, her parents clapped. Oliver gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow, whispering, "What'd you wish for?"

Amalie shook her head, smiling faintly. "I can't tell you, or it won't come true."

###

The morning light filtered through the trees in the town square, casting soft, golden hues across the cobblestone. Amalie sat on a worn bench, her elbows resting on her knees, head bowed. The quiet hum of life in Mystic Falls surrounded her—people chatting as they strolled past, the distant murmur of traffic, birds singing overhead. It was a picture of peace, so at odds with the turmoil in her mind that it felt almost cruel.

Nearby, Max and Ana lingered like shadows, the sounds of their bickering filling the air between them, though Amalie barely registered their words. She'd grown so used to their endless back-and-forth that it was like white noise now, part of the atmosphere of her life. And yet, even that familiarity didn't reach her today. Her thoughts were caught on a loop—on Katherine, on everything Katherine had said the night before, and on the empty, hollow feeling that had settled in her chest since she'd walked away.

Max paced in front of her, his worn leather jacket flapping slightly as he gestured animatedly. "I'm just saying, running away isn't exactly a plan, Amalie," he said, his voice edged with exasperation. "You left Katherine , but what now? You can't just sit here forever and brood."

Amalie lifted her head slightly, her eyes drifting out over the square, unfocused. Brooding? Maybe he wasn't wrong. She had no plan, no direction. And without Katherine, nothing was tethering her anymore. She had walked away from that twisted connection—the only constant she had known for decades—and now, what was left?

Ana, standing nearby with her arms crossed, rolled her eyes. "Like you have a better idea, Max?" She shot back. "She's been stuck in Katherine's web for decades . It's not like she can flip a switch, and everything goes back to normal. Give her a break."

Max shot her an irritated look. "I'm not saying I have all the answers, Ana, but come on. Sitting in the town square moping isn't going to fix anything either. You can't just—"

"I'm not moping," Amalie muttered, though her voice lacked the conviction she wished it had. Her gaze returned to the cobblestones, watching the way the light caught the uneven edges. There was something about the ordinary beauty of the square that made her feel even more adrift, like the world was moving on around her while she stayed stuck in place.

But Max wasn't wrong. She couldn't stay here forever. She knew that. Yet the weight of what came next was suffocating. Katherine had been a constant, a force, pulling her in every direction, but at least Amalie had known where she stood—an integral part of something, however twisted. Now that connection had snapped, leaving her lost in the aftermath.

Max finally stopped pacing and leaned down, his brow furrowed as he peered at her with more concern than usual. "Seriously, what's the plan here, Amalie? Are you going to confront her? Go back? Or do you have some secret plan you 've been keeping from us?"

Amalie let out a long, weary sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know, Max. I don't know what the plan is." Her voice was soft, almost defeated, and admitting that felt like a tiny fracture spreading through her.

Ana stepped forward, her tone gentler than before. "And that's okay. It's not about having a plan right now. You've been living in Katherine's shadow for so long—it's going to take time to shake that off."

Max scoffed, crossing his arms as he glared at Ana. "Sure, because sitting here and staring into space is the key to taking control of your life. Brilliant plan, Ana. Really