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Sophie sat up, wiping her eyes. She scanned Alana’s face, her bright eyes dimmed, the sparkle gone. It killed her to see her this way.

“It’s okay.” She nodded, rubbing Sophie’s arms. “Whoever it is, we’re going to get through this. Together.”

Her lip quivered. “Please don’t be mad at me,” she whispered.

Alana cocked her head, pointing to her chest. “Me? You’re worried about me being mad?”

Sophie hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yes”

Her stomach dropped. “Sophie…who’s the man?”

The doorbell suddenly rang.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Freya stepped away from them, flicking the blind at the front of the house to peer through the window. “Jesus,” she grumbled. She pinched her forehead. “Soph, what have you done?”

“Darling,” Otto said to Sophie. “Tell your sisters. Be brave.”

Sophie swallowed, then licked her lips. “Chris.”

She said it so softly that Alana was almost convinced she didn’t hear her right. “Excuse me?”

The doorbell rang again.

Alana bolted upright, looking at the door, then back at her sister. “Chris, as in, Chris Teller? My ex, Chris?”

The water works started all over again. “Y-yes.”

Alana had known anger before. After all, it was one of the five steps of grief. Even though she’d never experienced what it felt like to finish those steps and reach acceptance, she did know what it felt like to be angry. To deny it could happen, then to feel incomprehensible anger.

Except this time, her anger was different. This time it was rage. She could feel it building, slowly and surely from the deepest parts of her core out to her chest and to her fingertips.

Sophie growing up and meeting a man was one thing. But Chris?

This time there was knocking, and Alana knew exactly who it was.

“Does he know?” she asked coolly.

“I called him when we left the hospital,” Sophie explained.

Alana exhaled, then cracked her neck. Then she went for the door.

Leo grabbed her wrist. “Wait⁠—”

She ripped from his grasp and snatched the doorknob, throwing it open.

Chris was on the porch, on the opposite side of the screen door. He looked pale and weathered. His hair was a mess, his shirt buttoned incorrectly, and his shoes were not tied.

“Get. Out,” Alana spat.

He shook his head. “Let me see her.”

“See her?” She threw open the door and stormed out.

Chris stepped backward, then stumbled his way down the stairs into the field. Alana charged, bulldozing her way toward the vines, luring him farther and farther from the house.

“You don’t get to see her,” she snapped. “You don’t get to do anything with her. You are going to leave this house and never return.”