“Ruth made a mistake years ago that changed everything for my family. And then she made a hundred more. She left because my dad disowned her. He had to.”

Chase doesn’t say anything.

See? I think. You don’t want to know. If you did, you’d ask why.

He thumps his pillow a few times before settling back against it. “All I know is you do a lot for other people’s families. She’s your sister. And she’s clearly doing better than when you last saw her. Maybe things are different now. Maybe you should try a bit, see if there’s a way to help her out.”

“She’s a virus.”

“Wow. That’s pretty harsh. She doesn’t look that bad to me.”

He shifts so his back is against me, and I lie down, too, but there’s no way I can close my eyes. She’s cleverer than both of us, I want to say. I don’t care if that’s cold. I don’t care what she thinks of me and nor should you. But I don’t say anything, and within minutes he’s asleep. It’s like he has a sleep switch he can instantly flick on or off. I hate it. I listen to the softness of his breathing, and then the padded creep of my sister’s footsteps out of the bathroom and back to the couch. For the first time in ten years, I’m lying in the dark near my sister. I lie stiffly, afraid that she’s a spider that will move while I’m not paying attention.

There have been chances before this to tell Chase more about Ruth, to sketch in all the details of my family, tell him everything that happened in Horizon. But the truth is I’ve moved on and I don’t want to look back. I’ve dealt with the mess Ruth left me. And it’s over. I have a stable life here—I’m a social worker; I’m helping people—and I won’t let her ruin that.