The moment lasts just for these few blinks, and then the horror of memory rips through my guts. Rips through with rusted metal teeth.

I’m in my bedroom at my father’s house.

Cora’s dead.

I killed her.

It’s…it’s daytime.

Think back, I tell myself. What happened last night? I remember crying next to my sister’s body. Crying so hard I couldn’t stop. I don’t remember coming upstairs. I don’t have any memory of what happened with…

I bolt up in bed.

Is she still down there? Is my sister’s body still crumpled on the floor of my father’s study?

My stomach’s imploding, reminding me of how I felt the moment I realized Cora was a killer. I retch again. This time, nothing comes out of my mouth, but the bile in my throat burns like acid.

The aches come alive. Pain throughout my core, where my sister punched me repeatedly. Soreness on my right shoulder, and I remember slamming into the bookshelves as I attacked her.

I reach for my phone on the bedside table, suddenly desperate to know the time. When I fumble and find it’s not there, the image of Cora smashing it into bits replays in my mind.

I’m untethered, a particularly unsettling sensation knowing Max isn’t with me. Maybe he’s been calling.

My laptop is on the table where my phone should have been. I wake it and log in to my email account.

The only new message of consequence is from the school district, declaring another snow day.

I begin writing a message to Alec when I realize I don’t have his email address. In fact, I don’t even know his number. It only existed on my phone, which I hadn’t backed up since before I met him.

I go to Facebook and log in, hoping I can find him on there. I haven’t looked at Facebook in nearly a year, having abandoned social media after I discovered my husband’s infidelity.

I’m immediately assaulted with an outpouring of grief on my wall, scores of messages from friends expressing utter disbelief about Riley’s death. I have forty-eight unread messages and two hundred and twelve notifications. A quick scroll reveals a Bible’s worth of sentiments (praying for you, thoughts and prayers) and more heart and sad-face emojis than my mind can count. The postings are all from July.

After a few moments, I shake myself out of the stupor and search Alec’s name. I find him quickly—his beautiful smile radiating from the tiny profile photo—and friend-request him. Three minutes and a lifetime pass, and he accepts. Thank god.

My phone is dead, I write in a private message. I didn’t know how else to contact you. How did Max do last night? Did he try to call me?

Pulsing dots tell me he’s writing back.

Morning. Assume you saw school’s closed. All good here. Max had a couple rough moments last night but did okay overall. He tried calling but it went straight to voicemail. Making breakfast now. Pick him up whenever. No rush.