Mom had graciously left us to our own devices. It took approximately a thousand years to get comfortable; my head was pounding and June didn’t seem much better off, and I think we were both so struck by the novelty of being together like this that it was difficult to decide what we should do or how this should look. We finally settled on lying next to each other, heads propped up with pillows, looking up at the ceiling.

She had answers, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to look her in the eye.

I wasn’t sure she’d be able to look me in the eye.

So this was fine for now.

‘OK,’ June said, and exhaled. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi,’ I said back, then laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Because there were no words. There were no words for a lot of different reasons, so really, it seemed there should be negative words: we had been given too much and now it felt like we should take something away. I couldn’t comprehend the fact that she was finally here, that this would all end, that everything she’d kept buried was going to be dug up, reanimated; I think we were both nervous to find out what that would look like.

‘You look like Frankenstein,’ she said.

‘Frankenstein’s monster, thanks. You – I can’t think of anything known for having a cast and an edgy haircut.’

‘Here’s one: June Copeland.’

I laughed. ‘Then you look like June Copeland.’

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

‘I don’t really know. I think I’m feeling less OK by the second,’ I said, because it was true. At the hospital I’d felt relief that it was over but now there was panic that it’d happened at all. Anxiety slithered near the bottom of my belly, threatening to sink its teeth into me.

And June still had some talking to do.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

‘I think I feel … great,’ she said. ‘Maybe it was the drugs they gave me. I’m sure the trauma will hit in the morning. But right now I’m OK. Yeah. I’m OK.’

We both considered that for a moment. Outside, the rain had stopped and there was no sound besides our staggered breaths – until a dog barking made me flinch.

‘I need to know everything,’ I said.

‘I know,’ she said immediately after, like she was just waiting for me to ask. ‘Now?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What do you already know?’

I wasn’t actually sure. I was sure Heath had sent the messages. He had broken in, had uploaded the video. I was sure he had hurt June. And Dad – well, I wasn’t sure about anything. But I didn’t want to assume. And I wanted to hear her say it. ‘Nothing. I just, I need to know, first: did you have anything to do with this? Any of it?’