Page 82 of Before You Fell

A knock sounds at the door.

“Willow?” Mom’s voice is soft on the other side. “Sweetheart, are you awake?”

I close the notebook too quickly. “I’m fine.”

There is a pause before she speaks. “Can I come in?”

I wipe my face with my sleeve, but there is no hiding what crying does to a person. It leaves evidence—red eyes, wet cheeks, and that raw, fucked-up softness I hate wearing for anyone to see.

The door opens and Mom stands there in her nightgown.

Her face shifts when she sees me on the floor, the box open between my knees, the old notebook in my lap, and the past scattered around me.

“Oh, Willow,” she says, stepping into the room and stopping just short of me.

Those two words almost undo me.

“Don’t,” I say.

Before she can say anything else, Dad appears in the doorway behind her.

He looks from Mom to me, then to the floor beside my bed, where the tiny bottle of pills sits in plain sight. I never put them away because I knew I would need them in the morning.

Everything inside me drops.

For one terrible second, no one moves. No one speaks. Then Dad steps into the room and picks up the bottle.

I push myself off the floor too quickly and the notebook slips from my lap, landing open at my feet.

“What is this?” he asks.

“Graham,” Mom whispers.

He turns the bottle in his hand, looking at the tiny white pills because there is no label. Then he looks at me.

My shame turns sharp because it has nowhere to go. “Give it back.”

His jaw tightens. “That is not an answer, Willow.” He keeps it out of reach. “How many are you taking?”

My skin burns. “It’s none of your business.”

Mom shifts slightly between us, one hand pressed to her chest. “Can we all just breathe for a second?”

“No,” Dad says, eyes locked on me. “I want to know how long this has been going on.”

“Of course you do.”

His brow tightens. “What does that mean?”

“You want a number so you can decide how fucked up I am.”

“I want a number because I need to know if my daughter is in danger.” Dad steps toward me. “You are my daughter and you are scaring the hell out of me.”

His voice cracks at the end.

I turn to the closet and yank out my suitcase with more force then necessary.

Mom’s face drains. “What are you doing, Willow?”