“He told me she was dead. He told me that you were all dead – your family, your dog – and it was all my fault. But I snuck out of the basement and I called home. And she answered. My mother. She wasn’t dead. But I couldn’t say anything. I just hung up.” Her mother wiped at her eyes. “But your parents? Your brother?”

“He told me she was dead. He told me that you were all dead – your family, your dog – and it was all my fault. But I snuck out of the basement and I called home. And she answered. My mother. She wasn’t dead. But I couldn’t say anything. I just hung up.” Her mother wiped at her eyes. “But your parents? Your brother?”

— Heather Gudenkauf