I added.

“It should show I was home.

I was on Wi-Fi.

I called no one until Scarlett called me.”

“Good.”

The word was small, but it steadied me.

For the next forty minutes, I told the truth.

Every dull, ordinary detail of my evening.

The soup I reheated.

The laundry I folded.

The text from my manager asking if I could cover an opening shift.

The moment Scarlett called and changed everything.

Mercer listened without interrupting except to clarify times.

When it was over, he turned off the recorder.

Through the narrow window in the door, I saw my father in the hallway speaking to another officer.

His face was red now.

My mother stood near him with her arms crossed, no longer stroking anyone’s hair.

Scarlett sat on a bench, staring at the floor.

She looked smaller from there.

Not innocent.

Just smaller.

“Do I have to go back out there?” I asked.

“No,” Mercer said.

“But they’ll see you when you leave.”

I nodded.

I thought I was ready.

I was not.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, my mother moved toward me.

“What did you say?” she demanded.

Her voice was low, but it shook.

I looked at her hands.

For once, they were not reaching for Scarlett.

They were curled into fists at her sides.

“I told the truth.”

My father’s face went flat.

“You selfish little fool.”

A uniformed officer glanced over.

Detective Mercer stepped beside me.

“Mr.

Bennett.”

My father ignored him.

His eyes stayed locked on mine.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I stopped you from doing it to me.”

Scarlett lifted her head.

For a second, our eyes met.

I wanted to see remorse there.

I wanted it so badly it embarrassed me.

Even after everything, some foolish, starving part of me still wanted my little sister to look at me like I was a person she loved.

Instead, her mouth trembled.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered.

“I didn’t see her.

It was raining.

She came out of nowhere.”

“Then why did you leave?” I asked.

She flinched.

My mother snapped, “She was terrified.”

“So was the woman in the crosswalk.”

The words landed hard.

For the first time, Scarlett truly began to cry.

Not the polished, breathy sobs from before.

Not the helpless performance that bent everyone around her.

This was uglier.

Rawer.

Her face crumpled, and she looked down at her hands like she had just noticed they belonged to her.

“I went back,” she said.

Everyone froze.

My father turned sharply.

“Scarlett.”

She shook her head, crying harder.

“I went back around the block.

I saw the ambulance.

I saw people around her, and I thought…

I thought if I stopped, everything would be over.”

Mercer’s expression changed, just slightly.

“You need to stop talking until your attorney is present,” my father said.

But Scarlett was staring at me now.

“I called Mom,” she said.

“I called her before I called you.

She told me to come here.

Dad said they could fix it.”

My mother’s face drained of color.

“Sweetheart,” she said, “you’re confused.”

“No.” Scarlett’s voice broke.

“You said Clare would be fine.

You said she always lands on her feet.”

The hallway went silent around us.

There are moments when