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“Sometimes it’s easier to argue about things that have nothing to do with the actual problem,” Lia says quietly.

I nod. “Yes, I guess that’s true sometimes.”

“What happened?” Her hand moves to her neck where the pendant used to hang. I’ve noticed that still happens, even though I took the necklace back ages ago. I can tell she wants to ask what happened to the baby, but she can’t bring herself to do it.

I swallow hard, and everything hurts. “Isabel was twenty-seven weeks pregnant when the accident happened.”

Compassion gleams in Lia’s eyes, but I don’t deserve it. She thinks Olivia died the same way her mother did.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

My eyes burn, and I shake my head. “Isabel was taken to the hospital. She lived until—” I’m flooded with more images, more memories. Isabel’s voice, a heartbreaking plea.

Phoenix, please. Save Livy.

There’s a rushing sound in my ears, and I can’t breathe. My chest is tightening. I can’t do this. It’s impossible. Can’t. Breathe. Can’t. Talk.

Breathe, damn it.

Lia puts her hand on mine, a feather-light touch that abruptly pulls me back to the here and now. I have to control myself.

Get it over with. Finish the story and then let go.

I close my eyes for a moment, locking all the images and memories—the pain, anger, guilt, and all—behind a thick, impenetrable wall. Don’t think, don’t feel. Just talk.

“Phoenix,” Lia says. How can it be that my name on her lips makes everything feel just a little less terrible? Not better, but less terrible.

I rub my temples and continue. “They brought her to the hospital and delivered the baby. Olivia, our daughter. She was small and helpless and almost died. Isabel . . . Isabel died in the operating room. They couldn’t save her, it was all too much. The accident, the baby. But Livy survived. I still wonder how. They had to bring her back so many times. It was terrible. She was in the neonatal intensive care unit for weeks, in those incubators, and she was surrounded by tubes . . . It was like something you see in movies and TV shows, and you think you know what it’s like. But you really don’t know anything. It’s all awful, and you’re terrified.”

Lia’s fingers slip between mine. She doesn’t say a word, but her touch calms my racing pulse and somehow helps me keep breathing, even though my lungs would gladly stop working, given how hard it is for them to fill with oxygen.

“I’ve never been so scared in my life as I was during those weeks when I didn’t know whether Livy would live or die. I couldn’t think about anything else. I was at the hospital all the time. Every day, all day long. I practically lived in the damn place.” My voice sounds strained, and I’m about to start crying. I don’t care anymore. “I didn’t even go to Isabel’s funeral. I couldn’t. All I could think about was that Livy might not make it, and that she would die if I wasn’t with her, and then she would die completely alone.” Something breaks inside me.

“I’m sure that’s exactly what Isabel would have wanted,” Lia says gently.

“I know.” I taste salt on my lips and only now realize that tears are running down my face. I don’t bother to wipe them away. “But she wouldn’t have wanted me to run away as soon as Olivia was over the worst of it and allowed to leave the hospital.”

Lia gasps, and I don’t dare to look at her. All that’s missing is the end. The ugly end. The painful truth.

“You went to New York.” The pieces of the puzzle are gradually falling into place. She understands what I did.

“Yes. A few weeks later. I had a breakdown when Olivia got out of the hospital. It was all too much. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t go on. It’s my fault her mother is dead, and . . . she would have been better off if I had died instead.”

“Don’t say that,” Lia replies, her voice choked.

Unfortunately, it’s the truth.

“Isabel wouldn’t have run away. She wouldn’t have made up one stupid excuse after another to justify to herself that it was better to leave.”

“But maybe it really was better that way.”

I bite my lower lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood spreads across my tongue.

“Better for who?”

“For you. And for Olivia.”

I grimace.