Chapter 2

I'd been to Emma's place many times.

She used to say she loved quiet, didn't want to live with her parents, and hated the idea of dating—that living alone gave her the freedom she wanted.

Back then, whenever my mental health hit rock bottom, she would have me over, brew a fresh pot of coffee, and sit with me until dawn. I'd lost count of how many times I had cried myself into a breathless panic on that very couch.

Standing in the hallway now, the irony tasted like ash.

The doorbell rang for a long time before I finally heard footsteps shuffling toward the door. When it swung open, Emma stared at me, her face completely drained of color.

She had a men's jacket draped over her shoulders.

I knew that jacket. I bought it for Declan last winter. He had complained it was too bulky and inconvenient, wearing it only once before tossing it aside.

It turned out he hadn't disliked it at all. He'd just handed it over to someone else.

Panic flashed across Emma's eyes.

"Harper, what are you doing here?"

I didn't answer. My gaze slid past her, sweeping into the apartment. Two sets of plates and cutlery sat on the dining table, the pasta still sending wisps of steam into the air.

Declan's familiar car keys rested right there on the entryway console.

With red-rimmed eyes, Emma reached out to grab my arm.

"Harper, please, let me explain."

I stepped back, dodging her touch.

"Every single day you went with me to my therapy check-ins, listening to me talk about wanting to end it all—what was going through your mind?"

Tears spilled down her face.

"I didn't mean for this to happen."

I stared at her, my voice trembling violently.

"Emma, I'm asking you: during those three years you held me while I cried, did you feel guilty for even a single second?"

Her face went even paler. Her lips parted, but not a single word came out.

I raised my hand and slapped her across the face.

The sharp sound echoed in the dead silence of the room.

The next second, Declan burst out of the bedroom. He threw himself forward, shoving Emma behind his back.

"Harper, have you caused enough trouble?"

His voice was heavy with suppressed fury, his eyes burning with the cold annoyance of looking at a complete stranger throwing a public tantrum.

Watching him shield Emma like that, a sudden, stabbing agony curled tight around my heart.

Three years ago, when my depression hit hard and I stood on the edge of a rooftop, crying and screaming as I demanded to know who the woman was, the wind had been roaring.

I had stood there shivering violently, my parents sobbing behind me while my brother, Henry Sullivan, fell to his knees, begging me to step back from the ledge.

Declan had stood outside the crowd, his face pale, offering only a single cold command, "Harper, stop being crazy."

He wouldn't give me an answer back then.

Yet now, Emma only had to cry for him to rush to her defense.

I didn't say another word. I just turned around and walked out the door.