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‘I told him I’m staying and he offered for me to stay with him.’ Silence falls over the room.

‘You’re moving in with him?’ Elodie finally says, her voice climbing an octave.

‘I didn’t say moving in,’ I protest. ‘He just offered for me to stay with him while I figure things out. Temporarily.’

Elodie lets out a laugh. ‘Temporarily. Right.’

Tess shifts slightly on the couch, and her voice is soft when she speaks. ‘So you two are going all in then?’

Shrugging, I move to sit on the armchair opposite them, folding one leg over the other. ‘We haven’t defined anything, but I suppose so, yeah.’

Elodie nods slowly. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re staying. We’ve both loved having you back. I just hope you know what you’re doing when it comes to Ash.’

Tess watches me for another quiet moment, her expression thoughtful rather than judgemental.

‘We’re not saying it’s a bad thing,’ she says gently. ‘It just might be a little soon, since you’ve only just reconnected. We can make it work here, if that was a concern of yours.’

Elodie snorts. ‘A little soon?’

Sinking further into the armchair, I’m suddenly aware of how reckless it must sound. Maybe they’re right, maybe it is too soon, but when I think about Ash, and the certainty in his voice when he said he wasn’t letting me go again, the decision doesn’t feel rushed.

It feels inevitable.

41

BRYN

Five Years Ago

I stand beside the empty hospital bed. Through the window, the sky is a dull sheet of grey. I keep trying to remember the last thing I said to her. I don’t want to think about the fight, so I try to remember something before it. Something good. A laugh, a joke, the way she used to shove my shoulder when I was being annoying, but my mind keeps sliding back to the fight, the bitterness, and all the things that went wrong between us.

The last time we spoke, we were yelling. Now the bed she was in is empty, and there’s nothing left to say, because she’s gone. Everything we fought about seems so irrelevant now. Inside I feel quiet and hollow, like a house after the family has left and the furniture’s been taken out.

My parents stand a few steps behind me, stiff and silent. They’ve barely looked at me since Isla left us. I don’t know if they’re just lost in their own grief or if some part of them blames me. They must have heard us fighting – or at least known something was wrong between us.

A doctor begins speaking, but their words slip right past me. All I can think about is the last time I saw her alive and how angry we both were. A shaky breath slips out of me as the doctor’s words continue to drift past, soft and meaningless. I stare at the bed where she lay only hours earlier and think about everything that led us here: every stupid suspicion, every jealous thought, every condescending word that turned into a fight.

If Ash had never come between us … The thought stops there, heavy and bitter. It’s easier to leave it unfinished, because if I follow it all the way through, I might have to admit that I helped break things too, and that the tension and pain was already there between my sister and I, while his involvement just escalated things. My fingers curl into the long sleeves of my dress.

I loved him, I still do, but loving him now feels like pressing on a bruise – something tender and painful that never quite fades. Now every time I think about my sister, I see him, how close they were standing, and the photo … It flashes through my mind without warning, recalling the way my stomach dropped when I first saw it. I remember how my jealousy burned hot and ugly, spreading through me before I could stop it. The hurt now lives deep in my chest, heavy and restless, crawling under my skin. The anger simmers inside me relentlessly, like heat trapped under ashes. On the outside I feel cold – numb, even – but underneath, something still burns, raw and impossible to put out. The thought of him makes something inside me twist until it hurts to breathe.

I push my hair back off my face, staring at the bed one last time. Closing my eyes for a moment, I make a decision. Whether it’s for her or for me, I’m not entirely sure, but I’m going to let it all go. The anger. The questions. Him. I’m going to start over somewhere far away from this day, from this hospital, and from the memories that keep circling like ghosts.

It’s the only way I can think to survive it.

42

ASH

Now

Leaning against the kitchen counter, I watch Bryn move through the apartment. She sits on the floor beside the couch, her bag open in front of her. It’s smaller than I expected: a soft, worn thing that looks like it’s been dragged through too many places already. She pulls things out slowly, one at a time, like she’s not sure where they belong yet. Wordlessly, I observe. I enjoy watching her.

My apartment has always looked the same, with its black countertops, dark floors, and black-out curtains. Everything is in its place, and there’s no clutter or anything unnecessary. It’s cold, sleek, and untouched, which is how I like it, but Bryn is sitting in the middle of it now, cross-legged on the rug, and the place already feels different. She pulls out a knitted cardigan first, soft and pale blue, and drapes it over the arm of the couch. Then a small toiletry bag, a book with a bent spine, and a pair of worn sneakers that she nudges toward the wall with her foot.

Little pieces of her start appearing around the room, and I like it more than I should. I like the way her things interrupt the careful order of the place, how the soft colours lighten all the black and grey. The apartment suddenly looks lived in. Bryn pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear while she digs through the bag again, and my chest tightens in a way that’s almost unfamiliar.

A slow, quiet satisfaction settles deep inside me as I watch her stand and carry the blue cardigan toward the coat rack. When she passes me, she doesn’t even notice that I’m staring. She brushes past me like it’s normal – like being here with me is normal. My eyes follow her around the space.