Behind her, the television was on. The screen showed the crowded logging road in the middle of the woods, the camera panning across ambulances, police cars, and yellow tape. There, front and center, were John’s and Michael’s school pictures. The same ones the news had used when they’d first gone missing.

This time, the marquee read: BODIES FOUND.

Mrs. Darling’s voice quaked when she spoke. “They called me.” She blinked and tears spilled down her cheeks. “They think it might be John and Michael?”

Wendy walked past her father to where her mother sat on the couch. Steeling herself, Wendy tried to work up the courage to speak. Her hands opened and closed into fists at her sides. Her palms were slick with sweat. Her parents deserved some sort of explanation, something to make up for or ease the pain, but she didn’t know what to say.

Her mother stared up at her, confusion and worry denting her brow.

With determination, Wendy sucked in a deep breath, but it rattled in her lungs and tightened her chest. She felt her eyes prickle, felt the burn in her throat. “I—” Her face crumpled. An uncontrollable sob choked her.

“I’m so sorry,” Wendy blurted. Fracturing sobs overcame her. “It’s all my f-fault, I’m sorry—I’m so sorry!” The words repeated over and over until they slurred together into nothing. Her body trembled and her chest bucked with cries as she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle.

The sheer shock on her mother’s face softened.

Mrs. Darling’s gentle hands pulled Wendy to her. Her knees sank into the couch and Mrs. Darling gathered her close. Wendy’s body went rigid at first. She didn’t know the last time her mother had touched her like this, couldn’t even remember how it felt. But Mrs. Darling tucked the top of Wendy’s head under her chin and wrapped her arms around her. Her hand rubbed her back in long, slow strokes. She hummed softly into Wendy’s ear and everything in Wendy released.

She collapsed against her mom, clutching Mrs. Darling as she cried into her shoulder. Spit and tears soaked into the green scrubs.

“I’m so sorry,” Wendy choked out. “It’s my fault— I was supposed to be watching them— I was there—” Grief squeezed her like a vice. “I saw it happen— I couldn’t remember— I couldn’t— It’s because of me we aren’t a family anymore—”

“Shh, my darling,” her mom said quietly into her ear. Her voice was somber and edged with pain, but tender nonetheless. She held Wendy close, continuing to rub her back as she stroked her hair with the other hand. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault.”