The person in the water—soaking, flailing, barely conscious—was wearing the same windbreaker I’d helped pack into a duffel just this morning.

It was my brother.

And then I remembered what he told me last night, right before slamming the door…

“I can’t take it anymore, Evan. Everyone’s got it figured out but me.”

He hadn’t come back after that. I’d thought he’d just gone to clear his head, maybe sleep in his car like he sometimes did. I didn’t think he’d go near the lake. He hated the cold, hated the idea of deep water.