Every emergency they created had somehow become mine to solve.
At 10:16 p.m., my mother texted me privately.
“Your Father Says You Are Being Dramatic. I Told Him You Are Just Tired. Call Me Tomorrow And We Will Fix This.”
I screenshotted it.
Then I put the phone away.
Outside, a heron stood still near the dock, one thin leg in the water, patient as a secret.
I watched it for a long time.
It did not chase the fish.
It waited until the fish came close enough.
Part 3
By Wednesday morning, my mother had created a second group chat called Lake Weekend Crew.
She did not add me.
My cousin Elowen did.
Elowen was nineteen, a sophomore at NC State, and one of the few people in my family who still had a working conscience. At 6:12 a.
m., she sent me screenshots with one message.
“Arden, I Do Not Think They Know You Said No. Or They Do Not Care. I Thought You Should See This.”
