The White Robe Came Off

Chapter One: The Secret Beneath the White Robe

The microphone screamed before Chloe spoke. The sound made my stomach drop. It was a high, shrill metallic scream, loud enough to cut through the background music, the laughter, the splashing of water, and all the excuses I’d been using all afternoon to pretend I’d make it through my eighteenth birthday party unscathed.

The backyard became quiet. Nearly two hundred people turned to look at my twin sister. Chloe Bennett stood by the pool with a light on her face as if the sun had specifically asked her permission to shine. Pink bikini, impeccable makeup, long glossy hair, one hand holding the microphone, the other on her hip.

She smiled at me. Not the sweet smile that everyone would like. But a private smile that belongs to both of us. That meant she had sharpened something to a razor-sharp edge before entering the room.

“Come on, Maya,” she said sweetly, “stop hiding.”

Several people laughed out loud. I stood on the other side of the courtyard, wrapped in a thick white bathrobe, the heat suffocating on my skin, my fingers clutching the fabric belt. Underneath the bathrobe, she was wearing the same bikini that Chloe insisted we buy.

Same color. Same cut. Same size. This is her purpose. Twins.

Before the fire, people used to call us “mirror girls.”

After the fire, they stopped calling it that. Or, they say it with compassion. Chloe held up the microphone again.

“We agreed to wear the same thing today, remember? You spent the whole afternoon hiding under that tattered bathrobe.”

My mother, Caroline, stood by the sliding glass door, one hand on her necklace. My father, Richard, stood beside her, his jaw so tense that I could see the muscles in his temples pulsing. He knows.

Of course he knows. Chloe wasn’t winging it.

She planned all this with the same cruel methods as a child - she knew that as long as she smiled while doing bad things, adults would call it “confidence.”

Her best friend, Lila, started clapping slowly. A sound. Another sound. Then others joined in. Within seconds, uniform boos erupted around the pool.

“Take it off. Take it off. Take it off.”

Cell phones were raised one after another. Everyone wanted to take a video. A joke. A viral highlight. A birthday adventure between twins.

They don’t know that they are stepping on the grave that our family dug twelve years ago and euphemistically called it “Silence.”

My father backed away from the door. Our eyes met in the sky. For a second, he looked almost like the father I had trusted to protect me. He shook his head slightly. This is a warning.

Not because he was scared for me. It’s because he’s afraid I’ll tell the truth. I shook my head back at him. This time, absolutely. Chloe held the microphone toward me. Her smile grew brighter.

“Don’t keep everyone waiting.”

I walked towards her. Every step was heavy, but somewhere inside I felt completely calm. The great thing about being afraid for twelve years is that fear eventually becomes a habit. It loses its power to surprise you.

The crowd leaned forward. Chloe’s eyes sparkled.

She thought I would cry. She thought I would run away. She thought I would regard this day as the “finishing work” that she failed to complete during the fire.

I stopped in front of her and took the microphone from her hand. Her smile froze for half a second. Then I reached for the waistband of my bathrobe. My fingers are shaking. I let them shake.

Courage doesn’t always mean steady hands. I untied the knot. The bathrobe slipped from my shoulders and fell to the stone courtyard. The world seems to have pressed the pause button. There was no heckling. No laughter. No music.

There was just a collective breath taken away.

The camera flash went off first. Then, one by one, the phones dropped, and everyone finally got a good look at the high, raised healed scars that spread across my shoulders, back, arms, and ribs. The sun shone on skin I had hidden for twelve years—skin that had been covered up by hoodies, long sleeves, scarves, excuses, and a sense of shame that didn’t belong to me.

Someone dropped a wine glass. It lay in pieces by the pool. Chloe stumbled back. He covered his mouth with trembling hands.

“Maya,” she whispered, “no...”

My mother gasped, as if she’d been slapped in the face. My father’s face turned ashen, but it was too late to hide the panic. I turned back to the crowd. My voice was eerily calm when I spoke.

It was a calm that surprised everyone.

“These scars are the reason she survived.”

Every conversation stopped. I turned my attention back to Chloe. Then I looked at my parents. I tightened my grip on the microphone.

“Now, tell them who started that fire.”