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I shook my head, but I was starting to remember things I’d repressed after the accident—after guilt had felt like it was eating me alive. “You would’ve talked me into going anyway.” His eyes lit up and his lips lifted in a grin. “You told Mira once—when you know something’s right, you go after it, and you don’t let fear make the decision for you.”

“And here we observe the elusive Samantha Lowe, using her brother’s own words against him in a stunning display of self-awareness.” He said it in that terrible British accent—the one he used for his nature documentary narrations—and the sound of it was so specific, so him, that it nearly broke me.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

“Don’t what? Don’t remind you that I was a whole person who loved my life and would have never, ever wanted you to spend yours punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault?” He leaned forward. “Sam, you told Mom you were done apologizing. You chose yourself for the first time in five years. And then you ended up here, by no fault of your own, and you’re really going to tell me you want to stay?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple.”

“No, it’s not.” My voice cracked and the tears came again, hot and angry. “You don’t understand what it’s been like. Five years, Bryce. Five years of seeing your face every time I closed my eyes. Five years of Mom’s silence and Dad’s guilt—hell, my own fucking guilt—and feeling like I stole your entire future. Five years of choosing men who couldn’t get close because I didn’t believe I deserved someone to love. Five years of holding everyone else together so I never had to sit still long enough to feel how shattered I was.”

I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes. “And I was just starting to let that go. I was just starting to believe that maybe I could be happy. Harry’s—” My voice broke. “He makes me feel like I deserve good things. And the last thing I remember is the sound of metal and his voice screaming my name, and now I’m here with you and you’re asking me to choose like it’s so easy?”

Bryce was quiet for a long moment. When I finally dropped my hands and looked at him, his eyes were sad.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m asking you to choose. Because I know what you’d pick if the guilt was making the decision. You’d stay here with me out of penance, not love. And I won’t let you do that.”

The words hit me deep. It was exactly what I’d been running from for so long. I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

“So I’m asking you something no one’s asked you in five years.” He met my gaze. “Not what you owe anyone. Not who needs you. But what do you want, Sam?”

The question shocked the breath from my lungs.

What did I want?

What did I want, if I stripped away the guilt, obligation, and years of self-punishment?

The answer came like waves gently washing over my feet as I stood in the sand on a beach. Harry pulling me in by the waist as I danced past him in the kitchen and kissing me like I was all he needed to breathe. Abby’s head on my shoulder during a movie. Liam playing up his accent when he wanted attention or drank too much. Drew’s ridiculous dad jokes, which had gotten worse since he became an actual dad. Holding sweet little Rory in my arms.

I wanted to cook breakfast with Harry on Sunday mornings. I wanted to graduate and get a job that I loved but that also drove me a little crazy sometimes. I wanted to buy a house and have a family of my own.

I wanted to live. I wasn’t done with this life yet.

“I want to go back,” I said. And for the first time, the words didn’t feel like an apology.

Bryce smiled wide, his face so full of pride it made my chest ache. “There she is. That’s the sister I know and love.”

He pushed back from the table and stood. I did too, and he pulled me into another hug. I buried my face in his chest and held on tight. His hand came up and cupped the back of my head the way he used to when I was little and crying about a bad competition. I let myself stay there for one more minute. Just one.

“I need you to do something for me,” he said against my hair.

“Anything.”

“Stop carrying me like a debt. Carry me like a gift.” He pulled back and looked at me. “Remember me the way Mira does—like it’s an honor, not a punishment.”

My lip trembled but I nodded.

He looked behind me. “Turn around.”

When I turned, the coffee shop was gone and we were standing in a hospital room. My body was on the bed, pale and still. And oh God, my hair. Bryce wasn’t joking; it did look almost as bad as when I got attacked by the squirrel.

Harry was in the chair beside me, hunched forward with his forehead pressed against our joined hands. White gauze was wrapped around his palms, and his shoulders were shaking.

Even from here, I could hear his voice—rough and barely above a whisper.

I need you to come back to me. Please.