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“I saw it when I came to see your apartment. Before I had the baby.” She sat there, daring me to deny it. “So when were you gonna tell us? Were you just gonna, like, die and let us find out after?”

A flash of hurt flickered on her face. A microsecond of vulnerability that she covered up with the hard expression she used for a mask.

She knew. This whole time she knew.

“Did you tell Dad and Brent?” I whispered.

She shook her head. “No. But they know. We’re not idiots. We can see when you can’t even open a ketchup bottle.”

I sat back in my chair.

So this was why Dad had gotten worse. Why they both had. No wonder she went off the rails. No wonder she lost her shit.

Defeat bolted into my throat and choked me.

ALS’s grip would never let go. It just kept wrapping its tendrils around our ankles and pulling us down.

And now it had Adrian as well.

It had anyone who got close enough.

I swallowed. “I’m not sure if that’s what it is,” I said.

She scoffed. “Right.”

We fell into silence again.

She tugged at the ripped fabric on her chair. “Almost took a whole bottle the day I found out,” she said quietly. “Went right to the clinic. Got a script and everything. Didn’t fill it though. Kept telling myself that Mel would be disappointed in me if I took it while I was pregnant. It was the only thing that kept me from doing it, thinking Mel could see me.”

I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. “Annabel, if this is what…what it might be—I can’t keep Grace. I can keep her while you finish this program. But when you get out, you have to take her.”

She looked back at me, and all I could think was how young she was. She didn’t look nineteen. She looked like a kid. She didn’t even look old enough to drive.

“Give her to Dad.”

I stared at her. “Give her to Dad?”

“Or Brent and Joel.”

“Wha…Brent will bail the second she has a diaper blowout! He’s not ready to have a kid.” I shook my head. “You have to take care of her, Annabel. She’s yours.”

“I don’t want to. I can’t.”

I licked my lips. “Yes, you can. You can. I’ll help you. I’ll help you with money, you won’t have to work—”

“I won’t stay clean.”

She said it matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a threat. It was just a statement.

“I won’t. I want to, but if I have to take care of her, I won’t. It’s too hard. I’m just being honest. They tell me in here to speak my truth and that’s what it is. I never wanted her. I don’t want to be a mom. I can’t do it.”

“You know Dad can’t do this,” I breathed. “If something happens to me, he’ll be a mess. He’s already a mess. You can’t leave Grace with him—”

“Then find somebody else. People always want babies. She’s good. Somebody will want her.”

Tears pricked my eyes. “You can’t mean that,” I whispered. “She’s your daughter.”

She shrugged again. “Least I’m honest.”