"You didn' t mean to do it, " he said softly. "But if anyone wants to know, that's what happened." With that, he squeezed my shoulder to comfort me and I was left to wallow in my guilt. I focused my eyes on my old sneakers, my thoughts increasing in volume. I didn't mean to do it. I felt my hands shake with fear as the weight of reality dropped onto my fragile shoulders. I couldn't keep this secret forever. Most siblings argue but here I was, lucky to have a brother that would actually cover for me. However, I couldn't bare the thought of what Dad would do when he found out that his most prized possession had been destroyed--Mom's glass vase. How foolish of me to think that it would be okay to run around inside the house. I was terrified but not for myself, for George. My anxiety grew with the thought of Dad's reaction. He would explode. I know he missed Mom, we all did. George laid out a plan: He was going to take full responsibility. The dog had gotten in through the back door on accident. It was his fault the door was open. The dog had run around in distress, bumping into tables and of course, the table with the vase tumbled to the ground. I wanted to open my mouth, to emit words and tell him, "No. You don't have to cover for me. I'll deal with it." But the words shriveled up in my mouth. I nodded and squeezed George. Surprised by my affection, he froze but eventually relaxed. He patted my head. "It'll be okay." His voice cracked. If I had seen his eyes, I knew they would have been wide with fear. And at that moment, the front door swung open and in stumbled Dad. I squeezed my eyes shut.
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