I tell him. All of it.
By the time I finish, he’s quiet.
“He’s not a good man, Blair,” Dylan says eventually. “Whatever he’s told you, he’s engaged. He let this happen. That’s not love.”
“He didn’tletanything happen,” I bite back. “I’m not some clueless girl he tricked. I wanted him. I still want him. It wasn’t one-sided.”
“He’s still sleeping in your sister’s bed, Blair.”
That shuts me up.
When we hang up, I’m raw and restless. The guilt is still there, clawing at my insides, but the ache… the ache is louder. I grab my iPad and sink onto the floor, trying to outrun it all by sketching anything and everything. I draw until my fingers cramp and my heart stops screaming. Hours later, I hear the door creak open.
I don’t need to look up to know who it is. Abigail never knocks.
“Hey, Abby, I’m feeling a little better, so don’t worry. I’ll come out of the room soon,” I say. But the second I meet her eyes, I stop.
Her face is flushed with anger. Not the kind you scream with, no, this is worse. I know that expression. And I know exactly what it’s about.
I might be losing my sister, too.
“You… You slept with Calvin?”
My heart stops. My blood runs cold.
I barely manage to whisper, “Wh… who told you?”
She blinks. Then scoffs. “That’s what you want to know? I just accused you of sleeping with the man I am to marry in less than a month, and your first thought is who told me?”
I drop my Apple Pencil, my hands trembling. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Abigail…” I scramble to my knees in front of her. “Abby, I’m so, so, so sorry. Please. Please…” I beg through sobs, tears pouring down my face.
She doesn’t move at first. I brace myself for screaming, for a slap, something.
Instead, she leans down and gently pulls me to my feet. “Blair, for God’s sake, get up.”
The softness of her voice shocks me into silence. I expected her to start beating me and yelling at me—that’s what I would have done if I were in her position—but I guess that’s how you know which one of us is the better sister.
She paces, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she processes. I just stand there, crying like an idiot.
Then she stops.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she says, pulling out her phone. “I’m booking your flight back to Paris.”
“No. Abby, please.” I shake my head, tears still falling. “I want to be here. I want to be part of your wedding…”
She looks up, her eyes filled with something… Not anger. Not hate.Pity.
“Oh, honey. You love him.”
It’s not a question. But even if it were, I wouldn’t have answered. I’ve already done enough. Admitting the truth out loud would only twist the knife deeper.
“Jesus, baby…” she breathes. “Does he love you?”
I shake my head, hard. “No. I swear to you, he doesn’t. It was just… sex for him.”
“How did I not see this coming?” she asks herself as she steps closer. I close my eyes, bracing myself, and feel her warm hand cupping my cheek.
Her tenderness cuts deeper than any scream ever could. Her kindness, in this moment, is unbearable.
