Harriet's gaze flickered up, a sudden unease twisting her expression. "The police will be on my ass soon enough."
"Why?"
Her hands gripped the stem of her wine glass tighter, knuckles whitening. "Because I lied to them."
The words slipped out like a confession, fragile yet heavy. "When they asked where I was that night... I told them I was home. Safe. With all of you guys."
Harper's eyes narrowed, sharp and accusing. "But you weren't."
"No." Harriet admitted, voice trembling as if the admission burned her throat.
"I wasn't home. Because I was out on my way trying to fucking murder our grandmother."
A silence fell between them, dense and suffocating. Harper's gaze sharpened with an edge of something fierce and cold.
Harriet's voice was low, steady, almost bitter. "When they talked to Aura, she told them we were home all together. That's what I told her to say. To save the grief."
She paused, eyes fixed on Harper's face, searching. "But the detectives told her they'd already spoken to you at Warren before talking to Aura. And that you gave them a different story. That you wasn't home."
Harper's breath hitched. Her face paled as if the weight of the contradiction crushed her.
"So the story's all... all messed up. Contradictory. And that means they're going to come back to you. Hard. They're going to want to know why you lied. Why you gave them one version when I gave them another."
The room seemed to shrink around them, the buzz of the refrigerator suddenly oppressive. Harriet's shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her as the truth settled in like a stone.
"I didn't think about that. I was just scared. I wanted to protect myself... protect us. I really thought you was home, Harper."
Harper shook her head slowly, a mixture of frustration and sorrow in her eyes. "We're stuck in something way bigger than we are. The more we hide, the worse it gets. We can't afford to keep pieces of the truth locked away."
The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of their unspoken fears and guilt.
Harriet let out a bitter, hollow laugh that ricocheted around the cramped kitchen like shattered glass. It was a laugh that didn't reach her eyes—dry, cracked, and almost bitterly amused at her own unraveling.
"You know what, Harper? I actually don't care anymore. Jail, hell, whatever they throw at me—I'm ready."
She lifted the glass again, tipping back the last bitter drops of red wine like swallowing poison on purpose.
"Maybe this is the only way out. The only thing that makes any kind of sense anymore."
Harper leaned back against the counter, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world pressed down on her chest. She met Harriet's gaze, eyes dull but resolute. "Yeah well, I'm probably right behind you."
Harriet's brow furrowed in confusion, a flicker of disbelief cutting through the haze of her exhaustion. "Why the fuck would you end up in jail?"
Harper's eyes narrowed, and the faintest trace of a bitter smile tugged at her lips. "Because I had a gun, Harriet. Remember that part? They'll probably throw me away and lock the key for premeditation."
Harriet's jaw dropped slightly, a cold shiver running through her. "But they think... they think you only wanted to kill yourself. They don't know the actual truth."
Harper's voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper, like a knife sliding through thick fog.
"Yeah. That's what they think now. But it's just seems suspicious, don't you think?" Her eyes darkened, fierce and unyielding. "But it won't be long before the truth comes out. The real truth. And when it does, everything will change. Nothing will ever be the same."
The silence that followed was suffocating—heavy as a tombstone, thick with dread and unspoken fears. The kitchen light flickered faintly, casting long, crooked shadows across their faces, as if the room itself held its breath. Neither sister looked away. Neither blinked. Both were trapped in the gravity of what had been said—and what was still to come.
"Are you suicidal again?" Harriet asked. Her voice was quiet, but the question still felt like it shattered the air between them.
Harper didn't move. She just stared at her, hands wrapped tightly around it, like the answer might be somewhere in the steam that had long since faded.
Harriet stepped closer, slowly. "You haven't said it, but we're all thinking it. I need to hear it from you."
Still nothing. Harper's eyes stayed fixed on the takeaway food spread along the kitchen counters.
"You've done it before.." Harriet said, softer now. "When you were ten."
That made Harper look up. Her face was pale, tired. Her eyes were dull, like someone who hadn't seen light in a long time.
Harriet swallowed. "After what happened with-..."
Harper's whole body stiffened. "Don't."
"I just—"
"I said don't."
"You were just a kid." she whispered. "And I didn't protect you."
Harper gave a short, bitter laugh. "You didn't even believe me."
"I was young too. I didn't understand—"
"You knew, Harriet. You knew what he did to me. And you picked him anyway. Because you were scared of what Mom and Dad would think because you were dating an older boy."
The words hit hard. Harriet's chest tightened.
"You told Mom and Dad that I made it up." Harper said. Her voice was flat, but her eyes burned. "You said I wanted attention. That I was just having a bipolar episode."
"I hate what I did." Harriet said. "I've never forgiven myself."
She sat down at the table, across from Harper. Her hands were shaking. "We were so close before all that. Remember? We used to sneak downstairs for ice cream. You'd eat all the chocolate chunks and leave me the plain vanilla."
Harper looked at her, but there was no smile. No warmth.
"That girl.." Harper said, "the one who was supposed to protect me — she disappeared the day I told you what he did."
"I didn't mean to ruin you." Harriet whispered.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and cold. The only sound was the ticking of the kitchen clock.
"I'm sorry, Harper." Harriet said. "I'm still really sorry. I always will be."
Harper looked at her for a long time. Then she gave the smallest nod — not forgiveness, just a sign that she'd heard her.