“I mean, I’m sure he didn’t. That night I came home. I don’t remember much. But I know I picked him up out of his crib, because he was crying so loud and I didn’t want him to wake you. And.…” This is not so much a confessional as an exorcism. The memory wants to stay inside me like a devil. And it hurts so much coming out, a pain like fire in my chest. “I was trying to settle him down, and I tripped or stumbled. I’m not sure because I don’t really remember. But I have total recall of the moment I accidentally dropped him or let him go, because I saw him in the air, and I saw him hit the ground.”

She’s stopped breathing, her heart is pounding against my ear.

“And I don’t know why I said what I said. About him falling out. I was just so fucking horrified. And scared. And ashamed. And I just didn’t want to believe it. I was lying more to myself, I think. Trying to make myself believe this other story so that I could go on living without wanting to kill myself every minute of every day.”

The cabin has become a coffin. The only sound I hear is Cassie’s heart. My eyes are still closed and it feels like I’m running a fever. I feel like I should say more, that there’s some magical combination of words that needs to be recited in a certain order to honor the reality of what happened, or, if nothing else, unlock the front door, but there’s nothing left to say.

Cassie’s hand falls from my head. She still hasn’t taken a breath. I sit up, open my eyes and look at her. She’s staring straight ahead, but not really looking at anything. She’s in her mind. Remembering, or reconstructing the narrative of our past.

“Fucking kill me, right?” Because that’s what I want. “I’m so sorry.” I’m done telling lies.

She looks at me and tears film her eyes. “Is that it?”

“That’s everything,” I said.

She reached out and grabbed my hand as the first tear fell. “That’s awful,” she said, her chin trembling. “But it doesn’t change anything.”

Please don’t forgive me, I thought. I don’t think I can handle it.

“It happened, and we can’t take it back.” My punishment is staring into her eyes as she tells me this. “You were a different person, then. So was I. You,” she squeezed my hand, “would not, could not have hurt Rox. The person you want me to kill is already dead. You killed him. That wild son-of-a-bitch I loved. He died and gave birth to you, a man I love even more. And you wouldn’t exist if he hadn’t done that terrible thing.”