There’s no telling how long it’s been. It’s snowing. When Juno looks into a mirror, her reflection looks strange and confused.

Will you remember me after I die? Or will it be like I never existed at all?

When her brain cancer diagnosis was still fresh, Juno spoke about her death with Aspen often. It really is a shame how things happened - Juno’s parents worried for her, and Aspen was never used to being second best. She’d question if their mother’s tales of Heaven and Hell were true. For a long time, Juno believed her diagnosis was punishment, and that she’d done something to deserve it.

I’ll remember you. When I get married and have kids, I’ll tell them all about you.

Aspen really was stupid sometimes. Juno would do anything to see her stupid face.

Juno rarely leaves the house. Joke’s boyfriend, Van, had taken her to a festival in Amsterdam because Joke begged him to. He’s not overly friendly. Juno feels unwelcome anywhere she goes. The room she’s been given is large and decorated with all of her favorite things, but it still doesn’t feel like home. It’s a new year, and the snow hasn’t yet begun to melt.

Late at night, when they’re supposed to be sleeping, Juno sometimes sneaks into Joke’s room. She’s two years older than Juno, and experiences life in a different way. Joke’s nothing like her mother. She talks openly about her past, her fears, and her plans. She knows Doutzen. She has the same pale, crossed eyes as Ivo, but is nothing like him.

“How did I end up here?”

Juno doesn’t often talk to herself. She wants to be like Joke: pensive, confident.

“What do you mean: here?”

Joke lies on the bed next to Juno, looking up at the roof, her arms crossed beneath her head. She has two step-siblings, both more than a decade younger than her. Juno used to use social media. Since arriving here, she’s been forced to follow rules, as though she’s a child again. “How did I get here? Far away from home. What am I doing here? Do my parents even care that I’m gone?” She has more anxiety than normal: usually at night, when fear of the future creeps in and leaves Juno feeling paralyzed. There’s a sense of paranoia that comes with not knowing. Everyone else knows things about Juno they’d never dare tell her. She used to believe it was strangers who were the most dangerous.

Perhaps Joke keeps secrets, too. She speaks to her mother in quiet tones, and falls silent when Juno enters the room. She can keep secrets, too. There are so many questions to be asked, and not enough time in the world to get all the answers.

In Verena’s basement, there’s a small bookshelf that contains photo albums and scrapbooks. When the rest of the household sleeps, Juno snoops through the shelves: studying family photos of people she’s never seen before. Juno’s grandfather is named Sander. Although they’ve never met, she recognizes him the instant she turns the page. Juno’s mother used to be beautiful. She stands in the middle of a photograph dated 1986, smiling at the camera, her grandfather’s arm sat on her shoulders.

How come you never talk about your siblings?

Juno misses home. Her mother speaks often of childhood, but never of her family. She’s the type of storyteller that makes people miss those they’ve never met, and leaves Juno wondering about family long after the story ends. There’s something secretive about Anika’s stories. She starts them abruptly, and ends them the same way.

There’s nothing to talk about. You already know all you need to know.

The photograph is sleek and thin. Juno’s mother stands next to a boy who looks just like Ivo, but who smiles in a way Ivo has never done before. Although Anika doesn’t talk about Pim, Juno learns about him in strange ways. There’s a folded piece of paper squeezed between two pages of the photo album: crinkled and stained. Juno shouldn’t snoop. This is something her mother says all the time. She’s quiet. There’s no date on the paper, but it seems to be a journal entry, scribbled in tiny, crooked writing. It looks like Ivo’s writing.

“I didn’t know you were down here.”

Perhaps, like most, Juno believes well-practiced lies. She wakes up in the morning after having dreamt of her siblings, and longs to speak to them. It’s strange to consider the fact that Ciel and Aspen were told of her death months ago, and likely still believe it to be true.

Verena always hugs her children goodnight. She hugs Juno too, as if she’s been doing it all her life. If Juno wasn’t sure before of being away from home, this gesture would have convinced her. Although Anika loves her children, she isn’t a woman who hugs.

“How long have you been awake?”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

You need to learn to stand up for yourself, Juno. Do you want everyone to walk all over you for the rest of your life?

Juno is still rather thin, despite having put on a lot of weight. Slipping the folded piece of paper into the pocket of her pajama pants, she stares at Verena, whose suspicion is loud and common. Juno has spent a lifetime obeying others and keeping her nose clean. She’s unsure how long she’s been here, but can’t stand to stay a moment longer. “I want you to tell me the truth.”

Ivo is insufferable. There’s a part of Juno that wants to hug him tightly.

Verena frowns, her forehead wrinkling in a way that makes her look like an old woman. Anika has the same forehead wrinkle. Some days, Juno is still convinced she’s dead. “What do you mean, the truth? I’ve told you all there is to know. You were sick, and now you’re not.” The woman holds out a hand to Juno, exposing her fresh painted floral nails. Verena treats Juno like a daughter. The conflicting part of this comes from feeling more at home away from home. “Come on, I’m making breakfast. Are you hungry?”

Death changes people. It’s foolish to believe everything you’re told, and it’s foolish to trust someone just because they’re family.

“I’m not stupid!” It feels as though Juno lives in captivity: like a wild animal that needs to be watched, taken as a danger to itself and others. Other people’s lives are just as complex and multi-faceted as hers, and this can be odd to think about. She knows little of her grandparents, and draws conclusions about her mother’s upbringing based on the obscure, nonspecific stories the woman tells. Perhaps Verena will be more open. Maybe if you find a person’s weak spot, you can learn from them. “I went into a coma, and I woke up on the other side of the world, with everyone pretending I’ve lived here all along. You’re keeping secrets. You’re jealous of my mother. You abducted me.”

You need to learn how to hit people where it hurts. Getting what you want is easy when you know what hurts someone the most.

It takes a frightening kind of person to speak hateful words without feeling remorse. Juno thinks back on conversations from years ago, and feels guilty over things she’s said. Verena stands tall, her hands on her hips, taller than Juno. Maybe she’ll shout. Maybe she’ll continue to deny that anything happened at all. Juno waits for the backlash - and Verena deflates into herself, like an old balloon that’s been left out too long. Juno has never been the type of girl to hold a grudge. Everything is worth forgiving. Kida used to say forgiveness was the most powerful medicine of all.

“Your mother never deserved children.”

It’s cold in the basement. Juno wears only a tee shirt and a thin pair of shorts. “What did you say?”

Verena was always jealous of me. She was jealous that I made a name for myself while she struggled to provide for her family.

Juno’s sister was jealous of Juno, too. She’d hate to be middle-aged and still have unhealed childhood trauma. “Did you just say my mom didn’t deserve to have children? Why would you say that?” Anika isn’t the perfect mother. Juno isn’t the perfect daughter. Maybe if she’d never been the favorite child, she’d be bitter too. “Does my mother know I’m here?” It feels unpleasant to not have control. Putting her life into other people’s hands makes Juno feel afraid and nervous. It would likely be this way for anyone. Verena does not look displeased, and she does not look happy.

“Anika was spoiled. Anika got everything handed to her on a silver platter. Everything she did wrong was my fault, because she was a child, and I should have known better.” It seems as though Verena hasn’t spoken about her bitterness in quite some time. She speaks in a tone that’s sharp and sour, like a woman whose tongue tastes of lemons. She sits, defeated by her own resentment. “Then she left the country and married a man old enough to be her father, claiming his wealth as her own, and I was stuck looking after Pim.”

Verena isn’t a mean woman. She treats her family well, and welcomes strangers into home rather commonly. Juno remembers something her brother said, once. We only see the parts of people they enable us to see.

Upstairs, the children play loudly, and Joke’s dog sleeps at the top of the staircase. Juno longs to know the secrets her mother has kept from her for years.

“Why did you look after Pim?”

Ivo never speaks about his father. There’s more to him than she’s been made to believe: substance use often stems from trauma, and, as the youngest, he had traumas that the others didn’t. He wrote a note that should have gone to Anika after his death, like the rest of his things, but ended up in Verena’s basement, covered in dust and fingerprints.

Verena frowns, standing. “Nevermind. You ask too many questions. You’re just like your mother.”

She’s frustrated. She has the same tone in her voice as Juno’s mother. Juno isn’t a dishonest woman. If Juno values honesty, but no one else seems to do the same, does honesty really have any value at all?

“Why do you have this?”

There’s still no way of knowing how Juno will get home, or even if she’ll be able to leave at all. Joke, who promised to help attain plane tickets, hasn’t spoken of Juno’s return since bringing it up. “This note. It should have gone with my mom when she took in Ivo. He deserves to see it.” Juno could stash it in a duffel bag, or hide it in her suitcase when she finds a way home. “Did you love him? Is that why you kept the note? Because you want to blame Ivo too, somehow?”

It’s quiet where the women stand. Juno’s sister once said she makes people feel at ease, and this is why they open up to her.

“Anika asked me to keep it.” Although she acts unhappy, Verena makes no effort to take the note back, or to end the conversation. Maybe sometimes, all someone needs is to be listened to. “Pim followed her around everywhere. Pim was her little baby. She took him to a party, and she gave him drugs, and then, when he got addicted, she ran away to the other side of the world and left me to clean him up.”

Betrayal always cuts deepest when it comes from those we’re closest to. There’s static in Juno’s ears; it reminds her of mosquitoes buzzing as they flit around the windowsill, or a car radio that has no service, and crackles in and out. Verena turns, abrupt, making her way upstairs. The wooden staircase squeaks under her feet.