“I’m sorry!” Landry cries. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And I didn’t write that about you. Norah did it. Her real account only has a couple dozen followers, but the Crimson Cryer got hundreds and hundreds of them, in just a few hours, and she figured that would all go away if we didn’t keep posting. So she just … made it up.”

“Oh my god! Landry, lies like that can ruin someone’s life!”

“I know! We had a huge fight about it, and she promised never to do that again. Then I used the account to tell people to leave you alone.”

Well, that explains the contradictory nature of the Cryer’s posts about me.

“What about the latest tweet?” I demand. “Is Norah the one who lied about the police having evidence that I’m the mother?”

“That wasn’t a lie, exactly,” Landry says, staring at the coffee table. “Just a misinterpretation. Some doctor texted Mom about Penn’s paternity test results, saying that he might be the baby’s uncle. And Norah just kind of jumped to that conclusion.”

“Why would you show her that?” I can’t seem to stop shouting. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe my own sister would—

“Because she’s my friend!” Landry sobs. “You tell your friends things. Especially when you can’t tell anyone else.”

“Some friend,” I snap. “She used you to get Twitter-famous.”

“Beckett.”

Penn gives me a look. But screw him. I’m the one getting death threats.

He turns back to Landry. “We have to explain something to you. About those test results.”

I groan when I realize he’s right. We can’t keep hiding things from her; her efforts to find information on her own are what led to the Crimson Cryer destroying my life.

I sink onto the love seat, on the side nearest the couch, and Jake sits with me. “Should I go?” he whispers.

“No.” I take his hand. “But promise me you won’t tell anyone any of this.”

“Of course not.”

“What’s going on?” My sister swipes her fingers across her cheeks again, wiping away more tears.

Penn takes a deep breath. “Landry, the baby being my niece was only one of the possibilities. The other reason Lullaby and I could share nearly a quarter of our genetic material—the only reason that still makes sense—is if she were my half sister. Our half sister.”

Landry blinks, and I can see her trying to puzzle through that. “But Mom didn’t—”

“Not Mom,” I tell her.

“Dad?” She shakes her head. “You think Dad cheated on Mom? He didn’t. He wouldn’t. And anyway, he was already dead before the baby … I mean, wasn’t he?”

“There’s a possibility the baby could have been conceived up to two weeks before he died,” I explain.