The next morning at breakfast, I spoke my mind directly.
"Luna, we're not renewing the contract after this month. You should start looking for a place to stay now."
She froze for a moment, then submissively lowered her eyes. "I understand, Sis. My part-time job at the kindergarten is ending soon anyway. There's one week left; I'll move out next week. I won't make things difficult for you."
She agreed so easily that it left me momentarily dazed.
Over the next few days, she stayed home all day. She kept the house better than ever—windows crystal clear, every fabric smelling of sun-dried warmth. Looking at it all, I even began to waver, wondering if I was truly making a mountain out of a molehill.
The next day was Christmas Eve.
There was no snow outside, only a low, gray sky. A message came from my mother saying she was coming home for dinner, as was tradition.
Under the bright lights, everything looked no different from previous years—except for the presence of Luna.
Our family traditions were never formal; last year, we'd simply ordered pizza and binged old cartoons until midnight. But this year, because of Luna, everything felt unnervingly "smooth." She seemed to know the house even better than I did—without even looking, she handed my mother the ginger just as she reached for it; she poured red wine for Daniel at the exact moment his exhaustion peaked.
"You remember so well!" My mother clutched Luna's hand, grinning ear to ear. "It's like you've lived here for years."
I sat at the far end of the table, watching. Luna wasn't overbearing; she was simply quiet, thoughtful, and perfectly filling every gap.
"Sis," Luna suddenly looked up at me. Under the bright festive lights, her gaze was so tender it felt distorted. "This feeling of everyone being together... it's wonderful."
I tightened my grip on my fork, remaining silent.
After dinner, my father habitually leaned back in his chair. As if perfectly timed, Luna immediately brought over a cup of hot tea, steeped to the perfect temperature, and placed it by his hand. Watching my father give her that satisfied, approving smile, I sat there suddenly feeling like an outsider who had blundered into my own living room.
Later, my mother handed us two small boxes wrapped in identical paper.
"One for each of you. You two are just like sisters now."
I tore mine open to find a soft scarf. Beside my mother, Luna was carefully folding the discarded wrapping paper, her fingertips grazing the edges with slow, elegant precision.
Outside, the street was deathly silent, save for the rhythmic blinking of Christmas lights. Watching this scene of warmth and joy, I felt a sudden, unprecedented sense of isolation.
I told myself it was almost over. Just a few more days, and she would be gone.