Part of me wants to be there too. I want to listen and join in, but I’m scared because everything is so fragile here. After what I said at the table, Mum squeezed my hand, and it was the perfect amount and I knew what she meant. She was saying thank you, and I squeezed back and she smiled. It was a broken smile, hanging off its hinge, but it was real, and I almost said, “I love you.”

Before I try to sleep, I think of Will’s giggle and his eyes and everything else that made him perfect, and I whisper, “Happy birthday.”

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII I

One day, we give up. We can’t all do it at once, but that’s how it feels. It’s as if Dad and Logan and I all wake up one morning and think, Okay, this is life now, and we stop fighting it.

By now, most of our battles are with ourselves, anyway. At least that’s how it feels to me. I can’t remember the last time any of us fought with Mum because she always wins, one way or another.

They don’t lock Logan in anymore. The first night, no one told him. But, at some point, they did, and he stayed there, anyway. All the other doors and windows were locked, so he couldn’t get out if he’d wanted to. But he could have smashed the glass or called for help. Instead, he slept and waited until morning and ate his breakfast, and, a few months later, Mum said, “I think it’s time we sent you to school.”

“Really?” Logan said.

“Of course. You’re a big boy now. There’s so much to learn.”

There is so much to learn, like his name is William Christopher Pearce and that he was born on the twenty-second of June and that we’re his real family.

Mum has been teaching him for months, and he’s getting good at it. If he answers to Logan, or doesn’t answer to Will, there are consequences. But he hasn’t had those for ages.

Sometimes I’m scared that he’s starting to believe the lie, and, other times, I think he’s pretending. What if he’s faking it until Mum leaves him alone long enough for him to give us all away?

A part of me hopes that’s true, because my life used to be light, but now it’s so heavy. Maybe it always will be, because my brother’s gone and it’s my fault and Mum is so different now. But, sometimes, I still think it would be better if we just told the truth and dealt with it. They’d send us to prison, but we’re already there.