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He thinks about that.

"Mom was proud of you."

My throat closes.

"She was?"

"Yeah. She told everybody."

I look away for a second.

"Did she?"

"All the time."

I blink hard. Noah yawns.

"That was a big one."

"I'm still not tired."

"Of course not."

His eyes close. Within minutes, his breathing changes. I move his book to the nightstand, pull the blanket higher over his shoulder, and turn off the lamp. At the door, I look back. He's eight years old. He buried his mother today. Something inside me twists. I leave the door cracked and walk away.

My old bedroom is at the end of the hall. I haven't been inside since I came home. I stand outside it for a moment before opening the door. The room is smaller than I remember. The twin beds are gone, replaced by a queen bed for guests, but pieces of us are still everywhere. The window where Lily used to sit and paint her toenails. The dent in the baseboard from the time I threw a shoe at her and missed. A faded photograph on the dresser.

I pick it up. We're maybe fifteen. Same face. Different expressions. Lily is smiling straight at the camera. I'm looking at her. My thumb moves over the glass.

"You said you'd never leave me, Lily."

My voice breaks on her name. The tears come before I can stop them. I put the picture down.

"You said..."

I can't finish. I sit on the edge of the bed and cover my face, but it doesn't help. I cry until my chest hurts. Until I'm not thirty-six anymore. Until I'm just Mad, and I want my sister.

That's when I look at the closet. I cross the room and open the door. Push aside the hanging clothes. And there it is. The back corner. Our safe place. When the world got too loud, we came here. Thunderstorms. Bad grades. Mom being angry. Boys. Fights. Fear. We would sit behind the clothes with our knees touching and whisper until whatever had gone wrong felt survivable again.

I sink onto the closet floor and pull my knees against my chest. But Lily isn't here. This is the one thing our safe place can't fix. I wipe my face with the backs of my hands and my wrists, the way I probably did when I was eight.

That's when I see it. An envelope tucked behind an old box. I frown and reach for it.

"What's this?"

Then I see the handwriting. One word.

Mad.

My breath catches. I open it.

Mad,

If you're reading this, I was right about one thing. You went to our safe place.

A laugh escapes through my tears. Of course she knew.

I wish I could be there with you. I wish I could tell you this myself.