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“You were a child caught in something much bigger than yourself,” Landon cuts in, his calm voice slicing through my spiral. “You couldn’t have understood what Lydia was doing.”

“We need—” I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice. “I need to process this.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Mykel slumps back onto the floor, running his hands through his hair. “I mean, fuck. Our whole lives have been…”

“A lie?” I finish for him.

“Not everything,” Anne’s voice is soft but firm. “The love was real. Even Lydia’s, in her own way.”

“She tried to tell me,” I say. “At the end. She wanted…”

“She called me that night, too. She wanted forgiveness,” Anne says. “From both of us.”

But she never said she was sorry.

“So what now?” Mykel asks, looking between Anne and me. “We just… pretend we don’t know any of this?”

“We let it go,” Anne states, her tone leaving no room for argument. “For our own peace.”

I turn in Brandon’s arms, needing to see his face.

His eyes meet mine, dark and intense. “Together,” he says quietly, just for me. “Whatever comes next.”

“Jesus.” Mykel drains his glass.

After Anne and Landon leave, Mykel lingers by the door, Madison waiting outside.

“You know we can’t just let this go, right?” he asks.

I wrap my arms around my middle, a physical barrier against more pain. “I carried this for so long. I don’t want it anymore.”

“But there has to be more to this story,” Mykel insists, his eyes flashing with that familiar stubborn glint that reminds me so much of our father. “Dad wouldn’t just cover up murder for no reason.”

“I know you love him, but sometimes that makes us blind to the reality. Mom saw Clara as a threat, and Dad didn’t want to break up our family.”

Mykel’s face softens. “I just want the truth, Nay. Don’t you?”

“The truth is that our mother killed Anne’s mother. The truth is I saw her do it and said nothing. The truth is that Anne knew and still treated me like a sister,” I say. “I don’t know what more truth I can handle right now.”

“I’m sorry.” Mykel crushes me against his chest. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve seen it.”

“You couldn’t have known.” I lean into it. “Love you, idiot.”

“Love you too, dummy.” He withdraws to look at me. “Get some rest.”

I nod.

After Mykel leaves, Brandon’s apartment falls into a heavy silence.

“You okay?” Brandon asks.

“No,” I answer honestly. “I don’t think I’ve been okay since I was eight years old.”

He guides me back to the couch, and I collapse into his arms, suddenly exhausted.

“Talk to me.” His fingers card through my hair. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I’ve been carrying this for so long,” I whisper. “And now that it’s out, I don’t know who I am without it.”

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