Officer Prescott came to my room on Thursday morning with a woman in a gray cardigan who introduced herself as Ms. Hollis from the county’s child welfare office. They explained that when a minor is found in a life-threatening situation, a report is automatically opened.
“We need to understand how you ended up on that road,” Officer Prescott said gently. “Can you tell us in your own words?”
I told them everything. The kitchen table. The algebra. The orange bottle in Tiffany’s hand. The coat I wasn’t allowed to grab. The deadbolt.
Officer Prescott wrote it down without interrupting.
When I finished, he asked, “Josie, do you know what was in the bottle?”
“No. I never saw the label. Dad never looked at it either.”
He exchanged a glance with Ms. Hollis.
“We did,” he said.
My stomach tightened.
“My father gave you the bottle?”
“He brought it to the hospital when we asked. He said it was the reason he was angry.” Officer Prescott paused. “The prescription was filled at a pharmacy on Mill Avenue eleven days ago. The patient name on the label is Josephine Brennan.”
“That’s me. But I never—”
“I know.” He lifted a hand. “That’s why I went to the pharmacy yesterday.”
The room went very still.
“Pharmacies keep records of every pickup,” he continued. “A signature, an ID check, and often a camera at the counter.”
“Who picked it up?”
Prescott looked at me for a long moment.
“Your sister.”
I’d known. Somewhere deep in my chest, I had known from the moment Tiffany refused to look at me in the living room. But hearing it said out loud made something collapse inside me quietly.
“She used her own driver’s license,” he said. “She told the pharmacist she was picking it up for her younger sister, who was sick.”
“I wasn’t sick.”
“No.”
“Then why would she—”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
My father came to my room that evening.
I didn’t want him there. Margo had gone home to sleep, and the nurse at the desk asked me twice whether I was sure. Eventually I said yes, because there were things I needed him to hear.
He stood in the doorway for a long time, looking smaller than I had ever seen him. His shirt was wrinkled, and gray stubble covered his jaw. His hands hung at his sides as if he’d forgotten what they were for.
“Josie.”
I said nothing.
“The police told me. About the pharmacy.”
“Okay.”
“I should have read the label.”
I looked at him.
“Yes. You should have.”
His face crumpled. He walked to the foot of my bed and gripped the rail so hard his knuckles turned white.
“I was so sure. When your sister held up that bottle, all I could think of was…” He swallowed. “Last year, when she went through that bad stretch, I promised myself I’d never go through it again. I promised I’d catch it early. I’d be strict. I’d never look away.”
“So you looked at me instead.”
He flinched.
“I told you I didn’t want another sick daughter,” he whispered. “I said that out loud. To a fifteen-year-old kid. In a storm.”
“You did.”
“I don’t know how to make that right.”
“I don’t think you can.”
He nodded slowly, tears dropping onto the blanket.
“But I need you to tell me something,” I said. “On Sunday, I heard you on the phone talking about a prescription in my name. You told me it was an insurance mistake.”
His eyes closed.
“Did you already know?”
“The pharmacy called the house,” he said in a hollow voice. “Someone had questions about my insurance card. I thought it was a clerical error. But part of me…” He stopped. “Part of me wondered. And I didn’t want to find out.”
“Because it would be Tiffany.”
“Because if it was Tiffany, I’d have to admit I’d failed her. And if it was you, I could just be angry.”
It was the most honest thing my father had ever said to me.
It didn’t fix anything. But it was true, and for the first time, I could breathe a little easier.
Tiffany came on Saturday.
She stood in the hallway for a long time before knocking. When she finally stepped inside, she looked as though she hadn’t slept since Tuesday. Her hair hung limp around her pale face, and her hands shook.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
She sat in the chair beside my bed, the same chair Margo had used, and stared at the floor.
“I’m not here because the police told me to,” she said. “Although they did.”
“Okay.”
“I’m here because I couldn’t stop seeing that door.”
I waited.
“I was standing at the top of the stairs when Dad locked it,” she said. “I heard you knocking. I heard you calling my name, Josie. For almost twenty minutes.”
My throat burned.
“I just stood there,” she whispered. “I told myself you’d be fine. I told myself Dad would cool off. But I knew. I knew what I’d done, and I let you stand in the rain.”
“Why?”
She finally looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen.
“Because I was scared.”
“Of what?”
