I hadn’t gone to bed this early since I was ten, but things were so awkward downstairs that as soon as Mom said she had to put Shiloh to bed, we’d all pretended to be exhausted and jumped up, following her upstairs. It was impossible to chill in your living room when there was a video camera above the fireplace and detectives wandering around your kitchen reheating meals they’d brought from home.

None of us were sleeping. Dad’s and Meredith’s hushed whispers carried into my room, and Shiloh’s cries reverberated throughout the house. She slept all day and was awake at night, like she came into the world upside down, which meant Mom would be awake most of the night again. The bags underneath her eyes were getting worse instead of better. How was she supposed to get through all this without any sleep?

I scrolled through my phone, catching up on what everyone was saying about us on social media. Our pictures were plastered everywhere. I was fine with the ones from when Mom went missing, because I’d seen them hundreds of times, so I’d gotten used to them, and besides, they were cute. They’d picked the most adorable pictures of me to pull at the heartstrings of Mom’s attacker, but I hated my current one. It was my school picture from last year, and I looked terrible. I couldn’t say anything about it, though, because I wasn’t supposed to be paying any attention to the media. A quick scan told me nothing had changed, and everyone was still saying the same thing—Dad had something to do with it. That was what they always said.

Shiloh let out another wail, and I set my phone on the nightstand. Poor Mom. I had to help her. I couldn’t do much with the baby, but at least she wouldn’t have to be alone. I hated being up by myself in the middle of the night, because it was so lonely. That was what I hated the most about insomnia. Was she the same way? There was so much I wanted to know about her. I needed to stop being so afraid. I gave myself a final pep talk before getting up and tiptoeing over to her bedroom.

I knocked quietly. Mom cracked the door as she jiggled Shiloh in her other arm.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” I said, smiling at her. “You didn’t wake me up. It’s still a little early for me to go to sleep.”

She opened the door wider. “Come in?” Her voice wavered nervously.

“I mean, if it’s okay with you. I don’t want to bother you.”