Instead, I walk toward their door, because I have nowhere else to go. No one to call to my rescue this time.

Lucy is gone.

Zach is gone.

Jordan is gone.

A whimper escapes from my mouth.

Inside their room, my mom sits on the bed. My dad paces back and forth in front of the fireplace on the far side of the room. Neither of them looks like they’ve slept. They’re wearing the same clothes they had on yesterday.

My dad looks over at me, and I swear to god he doesn’t recognize me at first. For a second, it’s like he’s seen a ghost. His face pales and then he coughs, and the moment is gone. His expression snaps shut and his eyes narrow.

“May.” My name sounds like a curse coming from his mouth. “What the hell was that about yesterday?” He’s talking low; his voice is tight. “What were you thinking, hiding those letters from us for so long? Telling those people that you killed your brother? The prosecutor is furious.” He runs a hand through his hair, and when he speaks his voice has softened. “Why didn’t you tell us about the letters? We could have done something. We could have stopped it.” His voice cracks. He stops pacing for a moment. Clears his throat. Turns toward the fireplace and grips the mantel. After a few seconds he turns back to me. “Instead you just let him do this to you? Why would you do that? Why would—?”

“I don’t know.” My voice explodes out of my mouth before I can stop it. “I don’t know, all right? I don’t know.” The tears have already started. Fucking traitorous tears. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. Ball my hands into fists at my sides. I’m so sick of them ignoring me. I’m so sick of them acting like I’m not worth anything. The one who isn’t special. The one no one sees. “When exactly was I supposed to tell you? After Jordan’s funeral, when you ran off halfway through the wake because you had to deal with some bullshit emergency on your set? During the four seconds that I see Mom every week? Should I have shoved a note under your bedroom door? Not that you would have seen it. Do you even sleep here anymore? Do you even live here anymore?” My dad flinches.

“You don’t understand,” I go on. “You don’t understand anything. My entire life, you’ve never tried to understand me. Once you realized that I wasn’t smart like Jordan, that I was normal, you treated me like I was nothing. You never asked about my grades, about my life. It was always about him.” I’m screaming now. My voice scrapes along the inside of my throat; it hurts, but I keep going.