When we get back to the house later that afternoon, I go upstairs and open my laptop to Gmail. I need to share my decision with one more person before I act on it.

Email feels like an oddly formal way to communicate with my best friend, but what I have to say is too long for a text, and I’m not sure I could get it out over the phone. I craft the message to Andie, reiterating what I’ve just confessed to Nancy. I explain why I’m not going to testify against Burke, and that I’m going to drop the civil suit. I tell her that I believe Burke and I have a chance, and that, for better or worse, I need to see that chance through.

I click Send and feel the email disappear into the cloud, out of my control. A blade of afternoon light spears through the west-facing window by my childhood desk, illuminating the dust particles in the air. I wait.

Andie’s reply comes a few hours later, after the sun has gone down and I’ve finished dinner with Nancy and my dad.

S,

When Burke was in your life, you were the happiest I’ve ever seen you. The two of you lit each other up—I meant that when I said it in my wedding toast, and I mean it now. To say that I have doubts about your decision—and about Burke—is an understatement. But if you believe that what you had was real, and that there’s a fighting chance for you to get that love back, then I believe it, too.

I never told you this, but after everything fell apart in October, I reached out to your wedding photographer (I drunkenly got his card at the reception in case Spence ever proposes … FML). Anyway, I told him that things had gone downhill with you and Burke and asked him not to send you the wedding photos when they were ready. He said that he was almost done editing them and asked if he should send them to me … so I said yes. I don’t really know why. I’ve looked through the whole batch a bunch of times, if you want to know the truth. I’m sorry … I just knew seeing them would destroy you. I promise I didn’t show them to anyone though, not even Spence. But there’s one picture I keep going back to, attached, that I thought you should see. It’s Burke’s face when you were walking down the aisle with your dad.

Love always,

A

I reread Andie’s words, staring at her email in awe. I’d completely forgotten about the wedding pictures, and that the photographer never sent them over. There’s a warm glow behind my chest, and no matter what Andie and I have been through, no matter the stormy, tumultuous nature of our friendship, she is always the one who knows every last way to protect my heart, and that will always mean everything.

I open the photo attachment, and a black-and-white image floods the screen. Burke is standing at the front of the church, tall and handsome, hair combed back, hands clasped behind him. You can tell I’m walking down the aisle because the edge of my veil is in the frame. It’s not a close-up of Burke, but Andie is right that when you look at the photo, all you see is his face. His gargantuan smile, the way it radiates, the way it lights up the tears in his eyes.

* * *

The following Wednesday, Nancy, my father, and I arrive to the plea hearing a few minutes early.

Davis is waiting for us in the courtroom, looking redder than usual and thoroughly pissed off, which isn’t surprising given that I told him and Frank Monday night that I would not testify. I’m surprised Davis has even shown up.

“Frank is not happy,” Davis growls.

My father shakes his head. He’s angry, too, but having Nancy as my advocate has helped calm him down a bit. One day, I trust he’ll be able to understand.

I’ve realized after this whole terrible process that the tragic day at the lake—the day Heather’s brother drowned—was the catalyst for so much continued pain. If Heather could’ve found a way to overcome her anger—if she hadn’t responded to her grief by so obsessively focusing on revenge—none of this would have happened. I don’t want to be like her. I don’t want to keep perpetuating this punitive cycle, even with the law on my side, because what’s the point? I’ve found it in my heart to begin to forgive Burke, so why shouldn’t I act on that? Why shouldn’t I let Heather just keep the money my mom tried to give her in the first place? Don’t we all deserve to move on?

Burke is already at the hearing, too, sitting next to a man I assume to be his lawyer. My stomach is in knots as Nancy, my father, and I follow Davis to the table next to Burke’s, where the state prosecutor, Frank Bruno, is already perched. Frank barely registers our arrival, and I can’t say I blame him. The minute we sit, he stands and approaches Burke’s lawyer, and the two men step to the side of courtroom, huddled in conversation. Cold sweat slicks my brow and palms.

The courtroom isn’t like the ones you see on TV; the space is carpeted and far too small for the power it authorizes. I sense the familiar squeeze of my windpipe, the vibrations in my fingertips, that tell me I won’t be getting out of here without knocking on the closed door. One two three four five six seven eight; eight seven six five four three two one. Already, it calls to me.

Instinctively I look at Burke, and he’s watching me, his blue eyes bright as ever. I crave the sight of his dimples, but he doesn’t smile, his mouth a thin line of concern. I know that Burke can see the panic that has entered my mind because that’s the way love works. I know now that I still love him and he still loves me, and it isn’t just because of what I learned from Heather, though her words ring inside my head: He fell in love with someone else, Skye. You of all people should know that.

I thought it would be different, somehow, seeing Burke in court like this, after nearly two months without communication. I thought it would be awkward or devastating or humiliating, or some combination of the three, but it isn’t. Being in the same room with him is mostly just—relief. Cold water when you’ve been parched for hours. The feeling of coming home after a long time away.

Burke looks pale and tired, as he did at the Oyster Bar in January. But he’s still as handsome as ever in his suit, the way it stretches the span of his broad shoulders, his black hair neatly combed.

The judge seems to be waiting for Burke’s lawyer and Frank to finish their conversation, and the two men finally approach the bench. Frank’s mouth is a thin line as Burke’s lawyer whispers something to the judge, whose eyebrows jump. She gives a brisk nod, and the two men return to their seats.

The judge begins speaking, and I watch Burke’s gaze shift to the front of the room. I’m so nervous I’m dizzy, and I grip the table for support.

“Burke Michaels.” She clears her throat. “In a very surprising turn of events, the State of New York hereby has reduced the charge against you, from grand larceny to petit larceny. How do you plead?”

Burke opens his mouth to speak, then turns toward his lawyer, who whispers something in his ear. A few moments of silence pass.

“Guilty, Your Honor,” Burke says, and the sound of his steady, familiar voice fills me with ease.

I don’t have to look at Davis to know that he’s the color of boiled beets.

“All right, then.” A thoroughly stunned expression has morphed the judge’s face. “Given that petit larceny is a class A misdemeanor in the state of New York, I hereby sentence you to a year of probation and a five-hundred-dollar fine. And with that, I’m pleased to say I’m taking an exceptionally early lunch. Court is dismissed.”

Underneath the table, Nancy squeezes my hand. Relief drenches me.

I look over at Burke, whose forehead is scrunched. His lawyer’s mouth is gaping. He leans in toward Burke and claps him on the back, obstructing Burke’s face from my view.

“A year of fucking probation,” Davis hisses, shaking his head at me. He snatches his briefcase and storms out of the room without saying a word to anyone, even my father. Frank Bruno follows in his wake.

The rest of us stand, and Nancy pulls me in for a hug. “That wasn’t so bad, huh? You did the right thing.”

Behind her, my father lingers. Finally, he steps toward me. “The rational side of my brain can’t understand why the hell you’re doing this. But there’s another part of me that, well … I’m proud of you, Skye.” His voice is stiff but I can tell that his words are genuine. I don’t regret my decision, but I still can’t bear how much pain this entire mess has caused him.

“You don’t have to say that, Dad. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”

“No, it’s true, I am proud. You followed your gut and you listened to your heart.” He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Your mom always listened to her heart, too. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have ended up with me.”

I smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

From behind me, Nancy taps my arm. “I think there’s someone who wants to talk to you, Skye.”