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have been here before.” 
    I saw the blocks begin to stack against me. The first time your daughter is accused of trying to burn a school down may be easier to ignore. This second time . . . not so much. I bit my lip and looked out the window into the dark forest next to the house. He was right. We had been here before. 
    I was asked to leave after a part of my junior high school in Monterey burned down. They had accused me of having something to do with its demise. Between this and my mom, Mark felt it was time to leave. He had wanted to get back into field research for the Forestry Service for a long time. Mark had gotten a job in Olympia right after I had been kicked out of the school in Monterey. It was a great opportunity for him and an even better reason to depart. Moving up here gave us a fresh start, leaving the rumors, gossip, and bad memories behind.  
    “I thought moving here would help. I thought things were better here, but they aren’t, are they? You’ve been lying to me this whole time.” Mark stared out the windshield. “With what happened with your mother . . . we stopped your medication and therapy too soon.” 
    Therapist, shrink, counselor, whatever you wanted to call them, I had seen them all. Teachers, doctors, and family friends thought I might have some psychological problems after finding my mother’s dead body. She had died a little over five years ago now.
    Died . . . 
    That word always made it sound as if she had just simply passed away. The word murdered got caught in my throat, making me want to throw up. To think of my mom being murdered was just too much, and the visual of her shredded beyond recognition still haunted me. I woke up screaming from night terrors on a regular basis. Her killers still hadn’t been caught. 
    Since that day, I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until I no longer felt the emptiness inside me, letting my attachment to reality disappear altogether. However, those options were just an express ride to another therapist, another diagnosis, and more medication . . . and me being institutionalized. This was something I was trying to avoid at all costs. Mark had sent me to a dozen therapists and counseling groups right after my mom’s death. None of it helped. I still heard voices and still saw things that weren’t there. Schizophrenic was one term many doctors used. I became really good at hiding the truth and making a show of taking my meds, before secretly flushing them down the toilet. They all patted themselves on the back at my miraculous recovery. As good as I got covering the truth, in reality, I was only getting worse. 
    “What?” I looked at Mark. He pressed his lips together. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Seriously? Is that what you think?” My voice raised an octave. “That I blew up my school because I missed a therapy session? You really think I did these things? I hate school, but I didn’t blow it up!”
    “Ember . . .”
    “No!” My face heated with anger. “I can’t believe you’re using Mom’s murder and my therapy against me,” I burst out. “There was a time when you were on my side and believed me. I guess I can no longer count on that either.” I threw open the truck door and slammed it behind me. I stomped up the porch and into the house, thankful I had my keys in my pocket. Nothing ruins a good exit more than when it’s locked. 
    As I slammed the front door, I saw Mark still in the truck with his head on the steering wheel. Guilt and remorse tugged at my gut, but my pride made me continue to the safety of my bedroom. I slammed that door too. Even if he didn’t hear it, it made me feel better.
    Hearing Mark enter the house as I changed into my sweats. I quickly turned off my lights, hoping he’d think I went to bed, even if it was only six in the evening. I just didn’t want to deal with him right now. I didn’t want to deal with anyone right now, including myself, though I couldn’t seem to get away from