There is something that I have never told anybody.

Not my family, not my friends, not even the person who deserved to know the most. I have carried it for years like a heartbeat. Quiet constant and impossible to ignore. On the outside my life looks normal. I have a job, normal routines and occasional laughter.. Inside I have a memory that will not fade away.

It happened five years ago on a night.

My younger brother. I had an argument. It was not unusual. We used to fight over things all the time. That night we argued about money. He had borrowed some money. Had not given it back. I was stressed, frustrated and tired of feeling responsible for everybody. I threw words at him. I told him that he was useless a burden and that he should grow up.

He left the house in anger.

I remember standing by the window watching him walk into the rain. I could have called him back. I almost did. My hand even picked up the phone.. Pride is a powerful thing. I thought to myself that he would calm down and come back.

One hour later I got a call.

There had been an accident. A truck driver did not see him crossing the road. The rain made everything unclear. The headlights, the brakes and the last few seconds of his life. By the time I reached the hospital he was gone.

Everybody said it was fate.

They said that accidents happen and that I should not blame myself. My parents held my hand. Cried, telling me that it was not anybodys fault.. They did not know about the hurtful words I had said to him. They did not know that those were the words he ever heard from me.

At the funeral I stood beside his body. Felt something inside me break. I wanted to scream the truth. That I had pushed him out that night and that if I had just controlled my ego he might have stayed home.. I stayed silent and my silence became my punishment.

Many years have passed. My parents think that I am strong because I have moved on. They say that I became more responsible after his death. They call me the pillar of the family. If only they knew that the pillar is hollow.

Sometimes I replay that night differently in my head. In my version I call him back apologize and we laugh about the argument. He never steps into the rain.. Reality does not change.

This is the story that I never told.

Not because I am innocent. Because I am afraid that if I say it out loud it will stop being a memory and become a verdict. So I live with it quietly. A secret stitched into my chest.

Every time it rains I hear his footsteps walking away, from me again.