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It’s hot in here. A vent in the ceiling right above the door blows heat down on our heads. Sweat prickles across my throat and collects under my arms.

Felicity is close. Their breath is on my cheek.

Their hand is still holding mine.

In the kitchen, Mom is sobbing big, ugly sobs. Completely inconsolable, utterly incoherent. She should’ve been an actress.

“She’s going to kill me,” Mom wails.

The door isn’t the best fit for the frame. A line of light peeks through; it catches Felicity’s face and leaves a bright cut across the floor. Which means I have just enough space to look through. I don’t get much in my line of sight, though. A narrow sliver of the hall and the dining room. Plus a few strands of Leah’s hair, where she stands sentry in front of the door. We did say we’re hiding from Mom, didn’t we; she’s taking her job seriously.

Warren comforts my mother, holding her hand, while Alyssa awkwardly flutters about, trying to find something to do. She brings Mom water. Offers to take her coat. Mom accepts the water, but wraps her coat tighter.

“She got home late,” Mom babbles, “and she had a knife, and she killed that boy, and I don’t know where she is. Oh my god, I can’t believe he’s dead. She could hurt someone else. She’s going to hurt someone else.”

We didn’t get here first. We didn’t get to tell the story first. We’re fucked, and I’m a door away from the woman who is about to ruin my life.

Nobody is ever going to believe me. Not me, not the child of Graham Nathaniel Slaughter. There’s nothing I can say that will stop this. I won’t be able to move out of the city, transition, build a life that doesn’t want to devour me whole. My brain keeps repeating it over and over. Even with Cordelia Sutherland’s driver’s license, even if some lawyer ever agrees to take my case, there’s no way—there’s no way I’ll—

Felicity squeezes my hand.

“Hey,” they whisper. “Hey. Breathe.”

“What do we do?” I whisper back.

They don’t have an answer for me, because of course they don’t.

In the crack between the door and the frame, I can see that Warren Hanover has Mom by the arms. He looks more awake than I’ve ever seen him—standing tall, alert, not dulled by alcohol for once. It doesn’t look like he loves her, or misses her, but more like … like he missed being a cop. He’s desperately wanted to be a hero again, after being so suddenly ripped from his chance, and he finally has one last opportunity.

“Tell me what happened,” he says. “Start at the beginning. You think Morgan killed someone?”

Mom nods. “She did. The cameraman. Of the—of the documentary. Daniel. Because, he—he’d been stabbed. And when she came home, she had a knife. Please, you have to find her before she—”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll call dispatch, tell them to keep an eye out for her. Do you have any idea where she might be?”

Mom shakes her head. “I tried to trap her in the basement, but she’s smart. Too smart. She’s probably out by now. Trying to find me.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’ll make some calls and come right back. Alyssa, stay with her.”

Alyssa glances between Mom and Leah, then holds out a hand for Mom to follow her toward the hall.

It feels like it’s been days since we last saw each other, but it’s only been a few hours since she stood on the steps at school, flanked by girls I’d never met, and tore me apart. She’d told me what she was going to college for a hundred times, and I never remembered. She’d tried to introduce me to her friends, but I always refused. There’s a whole angle to her I ignored because I didn’t want to see it.

That’s how it always goes with me. People are so complex and unpredictable, so alive, and it makes me angry. It’s too much. I’ve never been able to understand it like everyone else. It …

Scares me.

People have always scared me. I’m so scared of everything, all the time.

Alyssa says, “Come on. Let’s get away from the window.”

Mom dabs at her eye with a tissue. “Of course. That sounds like a good idea.” As they walk together, she says, “Hi, Leah. How are you doing? Are you feeling okay?”

Leah says, rocking on her feet, “I’m feeling okay.”

It’s weird, seeing Mom interact with Alyssa and Leah like this. She treats them gently, if not with a vague sense of disinterest. There were some weird times over the years, sure: expecting Leah and me to be fast friends thanks to our shared diagnosis, and then when she couldn’t get the hang of Alyssa’s new name for a little too long. But that’s not awful. Nothing at all like what she did to me.

She can figure out trans people and autistic people fine enough. It’s fine as long as it isn’t her kid.