I open up my post office box to find a thin envelope inside. I stare at it for a moment, not quite willing to reach out and take it. I finally do, holding it between my fingertips.

I changed my address, like Renee had suggested. I thought it would be better to get the letters here. Alone. Without Renee’s watching eyes. But now I feel so alone in the hallway. Standing here, by myself, staring down at the return address for the court.

I close the post office box and take a breath, trying to steady my hands. I slip my finger under the flap and pull out a single sheet of paper.

I don’t know what it is. Some pleading filed in my mother’s case? But it’s been six years since she was sentenced. It doesn’t make sense. I shake my head and shove the paper back into the envelope.

There’s only one way to find out what that letter said. I need to talk to Carly. So when I get to my apartment, I open my laptop and wait for it to start up, my fingers rattling against the table.

My apartment is a square filled with other square things. Square bed, square table, square chair. Square laptop. Maybe that’s why I spend so much time sitting in that plastic chair in the backyard. Inside feels like a made-up home—somewhere that looks like a home but doesn’t feel like one.

When my laptop finally starts, I discover an email from Carly in my inbox. The subject is: CALL ME.

I open the email to find the same thing repeated inside. My heart stills. It’s not like her to be so vague or to use email, since I hardly check my account. I’ve known Carly since the court appointed her as my lawyer for my mother’s trial. The court appointment ended years ago, but she’s helped me out since then. Besides Renee, she’s the closest thing I have to a friend.

I send her a quick note, and one minute later, FaceTime dings and Carly’s round face fills the screen. “Hi, Ella.”

I smile back at her. “It’s good to see you.” It is. It really, really is. I push aside questions about the letter for just a moment. “How’s Lillian and Angeline?”

Carly nods. “Both fine. Angeline has her kindergarten graduation next week. Lillian and I are so proud of her.”

“Oh, I’ll send her a celebratory cupcake.” I’ve always made special ones for their little girl—with blue frosted unicorns. Angeline’s favorite ever since she was allowed to have sugar.

“She would love that. Thank you.” Carly looks down to pull out my file, and brown curls fall onto her forehead. “So, you know why I wanted to talk?”

“The letter.”

Her glance up is quick. “And your phone? You haven’t been answering your phone.”

“I lost it.” I shrug. I sound so silly.

Carly sighs. “We need to talk about your mother’s trial.”

“I don’t understand.” My mother’s trial is over. Concluded with a verdict six years ago.

Carly shuffles some papers, but her gaze locks on mine. “It turns out there was a technicality.”

My chair creaks when I lean back. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet. Not exactly. Something within the discovery. How the prosecution dealt with the depositions.” She sets the paper stack aside. “A technicality,” she repeats as if that clarifies everything.

“I don’t get what that means.” I scratch my frizzy hair, leaning into the monitor like I’ll be able to read the papers on her desk she keeps glancing at.

“There’s a request for review on her conviction.” She looks at me steadily. “She’s asking for the conviction to be reversed. She’s asking for a retrial.”

“That can’t happen. Right?” My heart pounds so loud I’m not sure if Carly heard my question.

“I don’t think it’ll get that far. I really don’t. Right now it’s one request for review. It’s just that…” She smooths back her curls. I’ve never seen her fingers tremble. Not even when the prosecutor tried to get me to testify against my mother.

She keeps shaking her head like something will change in the next minute.

I lean close to the screen. “Tell me.”

“The man who came forward to testify against your mother—he might not have been a victim.”

Carly’s image pixelates as my crappy Internet goes in and out.

Not a victim. I squeeze my eyes shut. “If he wasn’t a victim—” That word always makes my chest ache. “If he wasn’t a victim, then who was he?”

I didn’t remember the man who came forward to testify against my mother. But I figured I’d blocked him out—that he lived in some abyss so dark my mind abandoned him.

“Maybe he was related to a victim,” Carly says. “Or he wasn’t connected at all and wanted publicity. We don’t know anything yet. And all of this might blow over. But I felt like I needed to tell you and—”

“Carly?” My voice cuts loud and high. See you soon. That’s what my mother wrote. No, this can’t be happening. “My mother has to stay in prison.”

I want to curl in on myself. I want to forget seeing my mother in that brown uniform a shade lighter than her skin. Her hair yanked back and her high cheekbones sallow.

Carly shakes her head and leans toward the screen as if I’m not getting the point. “I don’t have control over this.”

“No, Carly. My mother has to stay in prison.” The tremble starts in my throat and crawls up to behind my eyes. If I let it, it will tear me in two. “If she gets out…”

Carly sighs. She can’t make the world spin in the way I’m asking, but I don’t know what else to do.

“You could help,” she says after a long moment.

The soft strength in her voice makes me sit up. “How?”

Her gaze skims across the screen. “Can you write a letter? I don’t know if it would do anything. But maybe if we get it in front of the judge, it can help.”

I shake my head, leaning back in my chair. “I-I don’t…” I swallow and stare down at my palms and the creases that cut across them. My mother believed in fortune tellers who could read those tiny lines. She believed everything is predetermined—all we do is follow the lines, like well-made paths that twist us through life.

My mother can’t get out of prison. What if she comes here? What if she finds me? What if she finds Charles and Dean? She’ll destroy everything.

“I can try to write a letter.” I force my hands flat against the table on either side of the computer. I can fight this. What good is life if you give up on it?

But the thought of putting my memories into words…

“Ella.” Carly’s low voice makes me hold my breath. Something I don’t want to hear always follows that tone. “I can’t find your brother. He hasn’t had an address in years. But someone needs to contact him about this.”

She won’t find Anthony if he doesn’t want to be found. He won’t be found in the usual ways. We grew up hiding—under radar and off-grid. My mother taught us to be invisible. But I know that Anthony always needed to be surrounded by people. He couldn’t go through a day without talking to a stranger. Or maybe he just needed weed. Regardless, I have a better chance of finding him than she does.

“I’ll look,” I promise. I’d already planned to ask Mitch. “What if…” I bite my lip. I don’t want to even contemplate the question hanging in the back of my mind. But it’s something I can’t ignore either.

Carly looks outside her screen and speaks to someone in the background before returning her focus on me. “Go on. I have to be in court, but they can wait a minute.”

“W-what if…” I start again, but these words are so hard to get through. No. I need to do this. “What if my letter also came with a statement? From a… victim.”

“What are you talking about?” Carly’s tone is a warning. “You’re aware of another victim?”

“He just moved back to Portage. With his son.” I have to tell Dean what I did. No holding back anymore. And then I’ll have to talk to Charles Archer. I press my palms against the table, hiding those tiny lines that my mother believes show my destiny.

Carly blinks at me, her forehead wrinkling before she licks her lips. “You remember this man? And what your mother did to him?”

“Y-yes.”

She sits back in her seat. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I thought you didn’t remember any of them.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Oh, Ella.” The worry lines across her forehead deepen, and she reaches out and touches the screen with her fingertips. She’s brisk sometimes, but I think it might be because she cares so deeply. She’s focused because she cares. She must be such a wonderful mother to Angeline. I wish I had been half that lucky.

“I should go out there.” She straightens. “I’ve got a trial right now, but I can be out there next month. Maybe I can delay the review request even though I’m your attorney and not hers. I’ll do some research. And I’ll send you money for a phone.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Already decided.” Carly gives me a glare, but it softens quickly. “I don’t think the conviction’s going to be reversed. But I had to tell you. Are you going to be okay?”

I force a thin smile. “I’ve been through worse.”

The woman I was supposed to love more than anyone ended up being the woman who has caused me the most pain. If she gets out, she’ll find us—both Anthony and me, and I don’t know what she’ll do after that.

I’m so far from okay I don’t even know where the line is anymore.