But Mom hadn’t known about the ripped seam. Or the backpack. Or the eighth-grade tour. Or Fletcher Anderson.

I hadn’t known any of that either.

“We didn’t know what to do with the baby,” Landry says, staring at the coffee table again. Her gaze is unfocused. Her words sound … distant. “The internet said that you can take a baby you don’t want—or one you can’t take care of—to any hospital or fire station, and they can’t ask you any questions. But I didn’t think that would work for one that wasn’t breathing. And we couldn’t just get on the bus with her. And I was afraid … I was scared that we’d get in trouble. So I made a cradle for her, out of Penn’s bag. At least, I thought it was his bag. And I kissed her on her forehead. Then Norah and I went outside and waited on a bench until the tour ended and the rest of the kids came outside. We just got back in line with them and got on the bus back to the middle school. Then Anna came to pick her up, and they gave me a ride home. And I—”

“You spent the night at Norah’s …,” I say, remembering that I had forgotten to pick her up that day, because I’d found the baby. Because I’d been interviewed by the police. Because I’d become the subject of the most malicious rumor ever to circulate through Clifford High School.

“I said you could stay with her and have pizza, because I didn’t want you to hear too much about the dead baby.” An irony that feels especially bitter now.

Landry nods. “I mostly slept a lot. And cried. Norah brought me pads, and frozen peas to sit on, and she gave me more Tylenol. She kept reading instructions online. She took care of me.”

While my mother and I were each consumed with identifying the baby I’d found, my little sister was recovering from unattended childbirth next door. And we had no idea.

“Then I got that notice about our cloud account,” Landry continues. “It just popped up on my phone.”

“What notice?” Mom frowns.

“Did you know that some of the information on our phones is backed up to our family cloud storage account automatically?” I ask her.

Mom shakes her head. “Your dad must have set that up. I don’t know anything about the cloud.”

“Me neither,” I admit. “But that night, Landry found the picture I’d taken of the baby, on our cloud backup. That’s why she and Norah started the Crimson Cryer account.”

“You—?” Mom turns on her, truly surprised for the first time since I can remember. “That was you?”