I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the headrest. It hit me then—she hadn’t told them the real reason she’d leftthat night. Only she and I knew the truth of why she’d walked out of that house, and even then, I’d only known half of it. I had spent a decade convinced she was selfish. I’d looked at her at the party, in the house, and in my own bed, and all I had seen was a woman who had escaped the wreckage unscathed.
I’d looked at her scar and I hadn't even asked. I’d seen the trauma and I’d looked away because it was easier to keep her as the villain.
“She almost died, Morgan,” I said, the realization hitting me with a fresh wave of nausea. “We almost lost her, too and we never knew.”
Morgan let out a jagged sob and covered her face with her hands. Penelope reached forward, squeezing Morgan’s shoulder, but her gaze was fixed on the back of my head.
“What are you going to do, Elliott?” Penelope asked. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft. “You’ve been harder on her than anyone. You’ve spent weeks in that house together. Did you ever... did you ever see it?”
I thought of the night I’d stood at the foot of her bed. I thought of the ice bath, the way her leg had locked up, and the way I’d looked at her scars while she slept. I’d seen the wreckage, but I hadn't known thewhen. I hadn't known she had been bleeding out while I was mourning.
“I saw it,” I whispered. “But I didn't know what I was looking at.”
“She’s not going to Cabo,” Morgan choked out. “How can she? After this? She thinks we hate her.”
“She’s going,” I said, my voice returning with a sudden, sharp clarity. I restarted the engine. I needed to get back. I needed to see her, even if she wouldn't look at me. “I’ll make sure she’s there.”
“Elliott, leave her alone for tonight,” Penelope warned. “She’s with her family. Let her breathe.”
I didn't answer. I waited for them to get out, watching them walk to the front door—two women who had just realized their best friend was a stranger.
As I backed out of the driveway, I didn't head home. I drove. I drove past the spot where the accident had happened—the spot where my parents' lives ended because they were on their way to pick up Vanessa. I hated her for that, and because while we were suffering the loss, she had gone on holiday to Arizona.
Now, now I saw the cruel irony.
I drove until the sun started to threaten the horizon.
I had called her a monster. I had called her a liar. And the worst part—the part that made me want to rip the steering wheel off—was that she had let me. She had taken every insult, every cold look, every bit of my misplaced rage, and she had worn it like it was her penance.
She wasn't the monster. I was.
twenty-four
VANESSA
“They’re here,”Mary whispered excitedly as she slipped into the back room.
I was squatting down, hemming the last piece on the mannequin before I looked up at her. “They?”
“Elliott and Penelope are with her,” she said quietly.
Of course they were. Because why would this be easy? This was me extending another olive branch, but I wasn't going to intrude on their moment. I had been waiting for them to reachout first, whenever they were ready. I’d broken their trust, and now I had to let them decide if they wanted me back in their lives. Lord knows I’d tried. I’d called, left voicemails, and sent texts. Nothing. Not even a pity emoji. I’d even sketched a little cartoon of myself in a jail cell and sent it to Elliott, hoping he’d crack. He hadn’t. That was when I knew it was bad.
Morgan had scheduled her final fitting for today. Tomorrow, everyone was flying out to Cabo. I hadn't heard if I was still invited, but I also hadn’t been explicitly disinvited—so everything was up in the air. This was the longest I’d ever gone without talking to Morgan. If they were trying to show me how angry they were, I got it—loud and clear. It was eating me alive.
The room I was working in was tucked behind the main space, where each bride had her own alcove to try on dresses in front of the big mirrors. I could hear everything out there, but they couldn’t see me. I hadn’t expected to be finishing the dress under this much pressure, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
With my sister’s help, I’d managed to get my designs out of Elliott’s house. I didn't know how she’d pulled it off, and I didn't ask. I didn't even dare ask about Steve—the thought of him would have broken me. It felt like a bitter divorce where I’d lost both the house and the dog.
So, I hemmed until the very last second.
Morgan tried on the first dress and walked out. Silence followed. Nobody said a word at first.
Then Penelope broke it. “Does it fit okay? Not too tight on the baby?”
I let out a slow breath. She’d told them. Finally.
“Yes, the fit is okay.”
