“Don’t you dare talk about yourself that way! Goddammit, Danielle. I have loved you since the day you were born. Just as I loved Jenny, and Natalie and Johnny. I would’ve taken you all in. I would’ve stuffed my silly condo to the ceiling with all of you if I’d been given the option. But Jenny had a plan. And being a good older sister, I listened to her plan and trusted her to manage her own life. That’s what family does. Her failings aren’t my failings, nor are they your failings. Life sucks. Your father was a bastard. Now cry, dammit. Let yourself bawl it all out, Danielle. Then let yourself heal. Your mother would’ve wanted that. And Natalie and Johnny would’ve wanted it, too.”

Then, just as quickly as my aunt had slapped me, she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. I didn’t pull away. I could only surrender to her, my aunt, my mother. Things got so blurred with the passage of time.

“I love you,” my aunt whispered against my cheek. “Dear God, Danielle, you are the best thing that ever happened to me, even when you break my heart.”

“I want them back.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I can’t picture them anymore. I see only you.”

“You don’t have to see them, Danielle. Just feel them in your heart.”

“I can’t,” I protested. “It hurts too much. Twenty-five years later, it aches.”

“Then feel the pain. No one ever said family didn’t hurt.”

But I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Instead I was in the bedroom again, handing the gun over to my mother. Trusting the woman with my aunt’s eyes to make everything all right.

“Go to bed, sweetheart,” she’d whispered. “Quick. Before he sees you. I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

My mother taking the gun. My mother setting it carefully on the nightstand. Where the clock read …

I froze. Caught the scene in my head, forced it to rewind. My mother, placing the gun in front of her digital clock, red numbers glowing 10:23 p.m. Myself, scurrying down the hall toward bed, where I pulled the covers over my head and blocked out the rest.

10:23 p.m. I’d talked to my mother at 10:23 p.m.

But according to the police report, my family didn’t die until after one a.m., at least two and half hours later.

I pulled away from my aunt. “I need to go.”

“Danielle—”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but you’re right. Someday, it will be. I love you, Aunt Helen. Even when I’m a bitch, I know how lucky I am to have you.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, still holding my hands, “we’ll go together.”

“Tomorrow,” I agreed. Now I pulled my hands free and made my way toward the door, frantic to get out of her house.