Adrian had called me back almost as soon as I hung up on him. I turned off my phone. There was absolutely nothing left to say.

He’d given me an ultimatum. An ultimatum about how I’d live the rest of my life.

He wouldn’t have even dated me if he’d known I might be sick. It was something I had been afraid to think about. It was something he’d vehemently denied. But now I knew that all of this, all his love, had been given in ignorance.

I was clickbait.

I was a deception. An enticing promise of worthy content. But when you really looked, it was nothing but false advertising. Not at all what you thought it was going to be. I’d sold Adrian on something that didn’t exist. I hadn’t done it on purpose, but he’d been misled nonetheless.

I should have known he was too good to be true. I should have looked for the reason a man like that would be willing to love someone like me. It was because he didn’t know any better.

And now he did.

The implications were too enormous to think about. So I didn’t. I showered, grabbed a shitty coffee at the gas station, and went to see my sister.

Annabel wasn’t expecting me, and I didn’t know if she’d see me. I checked in at the front desk and they buzzed me in.

When she came out into the visitors’ area and saw me, she paused for a moment. Then she pressed her lips into a line and dropped into the chair across from mine.

“Hey,” I said.

She crossed her arms. “Hey.”

We sat there in a tense silence.

She seemed tired, but her eyes were clear. She wore a clunky sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. Her blond hair was up in a messy ponytail. She looked thin. Almost gaunt.

“Are you eating?” I asked.

“The food here is shit,” she mumbled.

“Do you want me to get you some protein bars or something?”

She shrugged and looked away, picking at a small tear in the arm of her recliner.

“How’s your shoulder?” I asked.

“Fine, I guess,” she muttered. “They won’t give me anything so…”

“Well, no. You’re in rehab,” I said sarcastically.

She ignored me.

“Grace is doing well,” I offered.

She didn’t reply.

“I called you,” I said. “A lot.”

She pursed her lips. “I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“And why?”

“Because you’re a liar.”

I scoffed. “And how’s that exactly? Because I refused to unconditionally fund your bender?”

She leveled her eyes on me. Sharp blue eyes. Grace’s eyes.

“So where’s your brace?” she asked.

I blinked at her. “What?”

She glared at me. “Your brace. For your hand.”

I shifted in my seat. I’d never worn it in front of her. I’d never worn it in front of anyone except for Adrian.

“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.”

We sat there in silence.

I studied her. Her baby face with its deep forehead lines and wear beyond her years.

She was damaged. So, so damaged.

And why wouldn’t she be?

She was only fourteen when Mel got sick. She was a child, living in a trash heap, watching her oldest sister, the one who had been the only mom she ever knew, wither and die.