The house was never this loud before.
It used to be filled with laughter — birthday decorations, movie nights, pillow fights between two identical little girls.
But tonight, it echoed with shouting.
Kiara and Alina sat at the edge of the staircase, holding each other tightly. Their small fingers were intertwined like always, as if letting go would break something permanent.
From the living room came sharp voices.
"You don't care about this family anymore!" their mother cried.
"And you think you're perfect?" their father shouted back.
A loud crash followed.
Alina flinched instantly. She pressed her face into Kiara's shoulder.
"Are they fighting because of us?" Alina whispered.
Kiara shook her head quickly. "No. It's not our fault."
But deep down, doubt crawled into her heart.
The arguments had become normal now. Every night felt like a storm. Sometimes it was about money. Sometimes about time. Sometimes about things the girls didn't even understand.
The twins were only eight years old.
They weren't supposed to understand words like ego, sacrifice, or regret.
Yet those words floated around them daily.
That night, the fight grew worse than ever.
"You ruined everything!" their father yelled.
"No, you did!" their mother responded, her voice cracking.
Silence followed.
Not the peaceful kind.
The heavy kind.
Their bedroom door opened. Their mother walked out with tear-filled eyes. She didn't look at the girls. She walked straight past them.
Their father remained inside the living room, standing still like a statue.
Kiara felt something change in the air.
Something final.
She looked at Alina.
"Let's go to our room," she said softly.
But neither of them moved.
Because deep down, they both knew…
This wasn't just another fight.
A week later, their parents sat them down.
The girls sat side by side on the sofa.
Their mother held a tissue. Their father avoided eye contact.
"We've decided to live separately," their father said in a controlled voice.
Alina frowned. "Separately means… different rooms?"
Their mother's lips trembled. "Different houses."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
"But we'll still be together, right?" Kiara asked quickly.
Silence.
That silence answered everything.
Tears rolled down Alina's cheeks.
Kiara felt her chest tighten. She grabbed her sister's hand instinctively.
"Nothing will change between you two," their mother said softly.
But everything already had.
The courtroom was cold.
Too cold for children.
Kiara sat beside her father. Alina sat beside her mother. For the first time in their lives, they weren't sitting together.
They kept looking at each other across the room.
The judge spoke. Papers were signed. Adults nodded seriously.
Then the final decision came.
"The elder daughter will stay with the father. The younger daughter will stay with the mother."
Alina's face turned pale.
Kiara stood up immediately. "No! We stay together!"
Her father held her shoulder firmly. "Sit down."
Alina started crying loudly now. "I don't want to go without her!"
The adults tried to calm them, but no one asked what they wanted.
Because sometimes, children don't get choices.
Kiara broke free and ran to Alina. They hugged each other tightly, crying into each other's shoulders.
"I'll come see you," Kiara whispered desperately.
"Promise?" Alina asked between sobs.
"I promise."
But promises made in courtrooms are rarely kept.
The day of separation arrived quickly.
Two bags were packed.
Two cars waited outside.
Two different directions.
Kiara stood near her father, trying not to cry.
Alina clung to their mother.
They walked toward each other slowly.
"I don't want to forget your face," Alina whispered.
Kiara smiled through tears. "We have the same face, silly."
They laughed softly — one last shared laugh.
Then they hugged.
And then…
They were pulled apart.
The cars drove away in opposite directions.
Kiara turned back one last time.
Alina did too.
Two identical girls.
Two broken hearts.
One shattered family.
And that was the day their childhood ended.