The Long Weekend.

The maple leaves rustled overhead as the sun descended, casting golden rays on the old cottage at Crystal Lake. The Clarke family hadn't been here in a decade, not since that fateful day when words were said and feelings hurt. But as scattered as they were across the country, a pull brought them together this Civic Holiday.

Sarah, the eldest, had taken a long flight from Vancouver. The tech life had consumed her, and she had lost touch with her roots; she adjusted her glasses, looking around as if seeing the place for the first time. She remembered late-night ghost stories and canoe trips, but it all felt like a dream.

Josh, the second child, had become an environmental lawyer in Toronto. He'd grown cynical over the years, but something about being here, the scent of the pine and the chirping of the crickets, began to chip away at his guarded heart.

Amy, the family's baby at twenty-four, had settled in Quebec. She had always felt overshadowed by her older siblings, often like an afterthought. Today, she felt that familiar anxiety bubbling up, fearing her voice would be lost amidst stronger, louder ones.

As they gathered on the porch, there was an uncomfortable silence. Then Sarah broke it, "I can't believe it's been ten years."

"Ten years of silence," Josh murmured, his voice a mix of regret and bitterness.

Amy, summoning up her courage, said, "It wasn't just silence, Josh. It was growth, pain, learning, and loneliness."

The weight of their shared history seemed to press down on them. Sarah had decided to sell the family cottage all those years ago, thinking it practical. Josh had vehemently disagreed, seeing it as a betrayal of their parent's memory. Amy had been caught in the crossfire, wanting peace but feeling powerless.

"I'm sorry," Sarah whispered, her voice shaky. "I thought I was doing what was best for us. But I should've listened."

Josh looked away, fighting back tears. "I could've handled it better, too. I let anger take control."

Amy touched both hands, "Can we just… try? For mom and dad?"

That night, they decided to relive old memories. Sarah brought out her guitar, and they sang old folk songs by the fire. Josh recalled the legend of the loon from Crystal Lake, sending shivers down Amy's spine, just like when she was a child.

On the second day, they went canoeing. The rhythmic paddle strokes and the mirror-like reflection of the water brought serenity. But, as they approached a bend, Sarah's paddle got caught in some reeds. The canoe tipped dangerously. It was Josh, with his sharp reflexes, who managed to stabilize it. As they laughed at the near mishap, the barriers crumbled further.

Later, while preparing dinner, Amy confessed her feelings of always being overshadowed. Tears streaming down her face, she said, "It's hard always feeling like you're screaming into a void."

Sarah and Josh listened, really listened, and realized the depth of her pain. "We were so wrapped up in our world we forgot about yours," Josh admitted.

On the final day, they sat on the porch as the sun descended below the horizon again. The air was different, charged with hope and a newfound understanding.

"I propose a toast," said Josh, lifting his glass. "To us, to this place, to new beginnings."

Sarah smiled, "To family. No matter where we are, we have each other."

Strong and confident, Amy said, "To find our voices and really listen."

Once a symbol of their rift, the cottage now stood as a testament to their bond. As the siblings hugged tightly, they knew that while the journey ahead wouldn't always be smooth, they had taken the first step toward healing, and the Civic Holiday had given them the gift of family, which they wouldn't take for granted again.