It was a full half of a day since I had sent my angry text, unloaded my digital rant, and a reply came back: “You don’t know me but I’m April’s sister. She had a terrible accident, a car wreck. She’s in a coma for the last few days. Despite how pissed you sounded in that last text from you, it sounded like you cared for April, at least at some point. It sounds like maybe she was able to help you at some point in your life, and I hope you can come to get over your anger at her, with that in mind.” Three pieces, this text took to come through. I wasn’t expecting this twist, and I wasn’t expecting this stranger, kin to my past, to be so wordy. Then thirty minutes later, more texts.

“Look I need you to hear this from me if you’re going to find out anyway. I don’t trust the idiots at the hospital. April is a cop. April’s not even her real name. Like I said, I hope she helped you at some point in your life. I hope you can forgive her her secrets. I am so worried for my sister right now. I hope you can save her.”