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Jase lets out a quiet, tortured sound, and Zoe’s hand immediately closes around his. His eyes are huge, his gaze shocked. No, he never thought about how it was for me either.

“There’s no one I can talk to.” I keep speaking, unable to stop, unable to hold back. Everything that I’ve kept buried inside me for ages is flooding out. “I’m unhappy, Dad. I’m not well. You abandoned me.”

“You’re an adult, Lia. You had every opportunity in the world to talk to us,” Dad says, as if that would somehow make it better. Or justify it. It doesn’t.

“Yes. I’m an adult.” I sound as bitter as I feel. “But I was a child when Sam died. And you still didn’t care how I was doing.”

“That’s not true,” Mom protests. Tears glisten in her eyes, but tears don’t help her or me right now.

“Yes, it is. I tried to talk to you. But you didn’t listen. Not once. Not even now.” I turn back to my father, and suddenly I’m completely calm. Or maybe empty. I’m not sure. “Otherwise, you would have understood what I just tried to explain to you.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re going to calm down now, and then we’re going to finish this dinner. We’ll talk about it another time, when you’re feeling better and—”

“Dad, stop!” Jase interrupts him sharply. He’s still pale, but his eyes are glowing with anger. “You really don’t get it.”

“Yes, I do. But I won’t let my children ruin their mother’s birthday. Twice in a row.” His words are like a resounding slap in the face. Jase and I flinch simultaneously, and then I do what Jase did last year on Mom’s birthday.

I leave.

Without another word. Without looking back.

I grab my bag and leave, even though first Zoe and then Jase call my name. Hot tears run down my cheeks. I can’t take it anymore. Enough is enough.

As I leave the house, I notice that it’s starting to rain. Within seconds, I’m soaked to the skin, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. Not the rain, not the cold. I left my jacket on the coatrack, but nothing and no one can make me go back into that house. Ever again.

I start walking through this horrible, rainy Boston November evening, and it takes me a while to realize where I’m going, where my feet are taking me all by themselves.

Because there’s someone who cares how I am, what I have to say, who I am. Someone who sees me.

Phoenix.

He’s the last person I should go to. I pushed him away. I gave up on him and on us. For the right reasons. But right isn’t always right.

And he’s the only one I want to be with now.

Chapter 46

Ophelia

He’s not here.

Phoenix isn’t home. It’s probably better that way.

Coming here was a mistake—and not fair either. Not to him, and somehow not to myself either.

Still, my steps are heavy as I walk away down the hallway. My vision blurs. I press the button to call the elevator, bite my lip, and lower my head, desperately trying not to burst into tears again, but it’s pretty hopeless. The elevator doors slide open. I take a step forward and bounce right back because I run into a large, warm body.

I look up, and there he is, right in front of me.

A silent sob escapes my throat and then gets stuck there. He’s here, his gaze meets mine. At first he just looks surprised; he didn’t expect to see me. Then he notices my tear-stained face and my wet hair and clothes, and his expression darkens.

“Ophelia,” he says, and my heart leaps with longing before it remembers that I shouldn’t be here.

“I’m sorry. I . . . I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry. I’ll leave now,” I stammer, unable to think straight. I try to push past him into the elevator, but he takes a step forward and blocks my way.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice harsh, almost angry, but his gaze is soft and concerned, and I know he’s not angry that I’m here.

I sob, cover my face with my hands, and shake my head because suddenly there are no words. Nothing I could say.