I needed to ask. I had to ask. I had been waiting all afternoon for the right moment, as if such a thing existed anymore. The silence between us had turned into something with mass, something alive, something dangerous.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs. I set the spoon down, wiped my hands on a dish towel, and watched the kitchen doorway.
Mia appeared. Her hair was in a knot that had mostly escaped, strands dark against her too-pale face. She hovered at the threshold, as if checking for danger, then crossed to the table.
"I made pasta."
"Thanks." She dropped into her chair. Apollo trotted in from the living room and slunk under the table, where Mia would secretly feed him, and we'd all pretend nothing was going on.
I plated the food. Spoonfuls of pasta. Ladles of sauce. Grated Parmesan snowing down over both plates. A small salad neither of us wanted.
"You have schoolwork?"
She shrugged. "They emailed some stuff. I'll look at it later."
She twirled pasta, lifted it, let it slide back down her fork. She hadn't taken more than two bites.
I took a sip of water. My throat felt tight, as if I had swallowed a stone. "I, ah, need to let you know. We don't have Camille anymore."
Her gaze snapped up at Camille's name. Her face went white. "We don't? Mom, I'm freaking out right now."
"I know, and I'm sorry."
"What happened?"
"It doesn't matter, don't worry about it." I hated the look on her face, the panic, the betrayal. "I'll figure something out, okay? I promise."
We ate for another few minutes, both of us listless, moving food around on our plates.
"I saw another article today." I kept my eyes on the spaghetti, on a stray basil leaf stuck to one of the noodles. "About Leah. About what happened."
Her fork stilled. "Okay."
"It mentioned a fight." I made my tone neutral, exploratory. "Between you and Leah. That night."
"They're lying."
"They said a witness confirmed it."
"They're making stuff up, Mom. That's what they do. They twisteverything." Her eyes were fixed on the table, not me. Her hand had gone white-knuckled around her fork.
"I just need to hear it from you. Did you and Leah fight? On the bluff?"
Her lips thinned. She moved a piece of salad around her plate with the fork tine, not eating it. "It was just… it was nothing, okay? I don't want to talk about it."
"I think we need to, honey. I can't help you if I don't know everything. I must understand what really happened."
"I already told you what happened." The words came out sharp and pointed. "You don't believe me."
"Mia." I forced my hands to stay flat on the table, to keep my fingers from curling into fists. "If there was a fight, if someone saw something, we need to know what they're saying. To protect you."
"It doesn't even matter!" She shoved her chair back. Apollo yelped under the table. "It's everywhere. On Instagram and TikTok. On the news. On X. Everyone has already decided. What happened. What I am. That I'm violent. I'm a psycho. I plotted to murder my best friend at a slumber party. I'm unstable. I should be locked up for life. I should be beheaded, strangled, shot in the heart. It doesn't matter what I say. They don't care what I have to say."
"I care." My own voice had an edge now. I was weary, exhausted, frustrated, and scared. "I need you to tell me the truth."
She stared at me, breathing faster. A flush rose from her throat to her cheeks. "I already did! I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"Mia, listen?—"
