She hesitates for a second, then she shrugs out of her pink coat and kicks off her sneakers.

I toss her coat over the back of the only chair in the room, then I sink into it. “It’s going to be okay. I know it feels like it won’t be, right now, but it will.”

“How do you know?”

Fair point. For the first time, what she’s going through isn’t something I’ve already done. I have no experience-based wisdom to impart. And while life has taught me many lessons over the past year, “it’s going to be okay” has not been among them.

“Mom called the Andersons?” Landry asks when I can’t offer a meaningful follow-up to my pointless platitude.

“Yeah. I think they’re coming over.”

“Oh my god, why?” Landry throws herself facedown onto her pillow. “Why does she have to tell them? It’s all over now. Why can’t she just let this go away?”

I hesitate, again, because that’s another fair question. “Don’t you think they have a right to know?” I ask at last.

Landry sits up, her brows deeply furrowed. “No! Why would they have that right? It’s my body. It was my baby. My mistakes. My consequences. I would have had to tell everyone if the baby had lived, but she didn’t, and now …” Fresh tears slide down my sister’s cheeks. “How am I ever supposed to face Fletcher after this?”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to face him? Landry, this is a mistake and a tragedy that you’re both responsible for. Don’t you think he should share that responsibility? Don’t you think he should know that his actions had consequences?”

“I guess. But, I mean, he didn’t lie. He didn’t hide a pregnancy. He didn’t leave his baby in the locker room …”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t share—”

The doorbell rings, and Landry jumps. Her eyes widen, and her hands begin to shake. “I can’t do it. I can’t tell him. I can’t look at his parents and tell them what I did. That it’s my fault they never got a chance to see their grandchild. I—”

“Yes, you can.” My entire body aches in sympathy for her. Dragging her into the living room—into this confession—feels like the opposite of watching out for her. But Lullaby Doe doesn’t belong to just her anymore. In fact, that was never really true in the first place. “Come on. Mom, Penn, and I will be right here with you.” I give her my hand, and she takes it as she climbs out of the bed.

I wrap my arms around her trembling shoulders as I lead her down the hall.