Flashes of me in this same fucking boat at age six, twelve, fifteen—over and over, with my mom to sit beside me and coax me back to normal. But she’s not here. I have to face it without her. Without anyone, because I have no one— You have Ro. I’m dialing before I can think twice about it, the line ringing long enough that I’m almost sure she won’t pick up. And yet, when she does, I almost wish she hadn’t. “Hello,” she whispers, her voice airy and trembling. “Ro?”
