I break down when I walk through the door for two reasons.

One, because Carter's house is blissfully the same. To my left is the sitting room, furnished with two plush chairs facing a raised platform. Michael would use it as a stage when he first started the trumpet, sometimes forcing Carter and me to act as his audience. I used to sit on my hands to refrain from covering my ears.

On my right is the dining room, the one my family sat at for Thanksgiving one year after our flight to Alabama got canceled. I wasn't complaining; I like my dad's family, but back then, I would've picked Carter over anything. We sat next to each other, our chairs close enough that his thigh grazed mine as we ate. Each brush of his leg sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and I blushed through the entire meal.

Straight ahead are the stairs where Michael and Andrew once spent an entire afternoon teaching us how to mattress surf. We took turns sliding down those steps, and somehow none of us broke our necks. It was one of the few times Carter was included in his brothers' games; I remember him smiling for days afterwards.

Next to them is the hallway that leads to the living room. From the door, I can see the same faded couch Carter and I spent hours watching late night movies, cuddled under blankets with snack bags of popcorn. And sitting on the edge of it, wearing the same bathrobe she's had since I was young, is Carter's mom.

Reason number two.

My heart stops when I see Julia. She's in the same spot she always chooses: the end that's long enough to prop up her feet. Tonight, she has her legs pulled up to her chest, hugging them tightly. She's focused on the far wall of the room — until I shut the door behind me, that is.

As soon as Julia spots me, she's on her feet, crossing the length of the hallway in seconds. She pulls me into her arms and I'm nine years old again. Through ragged breaths, I catch a whiff of cinnamon, Julia's signature scent. As she strokes my hair and holds me close, a single word comes to mind.

Home.

"Chloe called me after the two of you ran out. I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she says, her voice soothing. The familiarity of it comforts me like a childhood blanket. All I can do is whimper against her shoulder. She holds me tight until they subside, then pulls back to wipe away the tears.

If she was the person I woke up to days ago, I wouldn't have blinked an eye. Her features have barely changed over the last ten years, save for a few extra wrinkles here and there. Her blonde hair has more grey streaked through, but she wears it the same. It falls in layers around her face, stopping just before it reaches her shoulders. And in her eyes, so similar to Carter's, is the same kindness she's shown me my whole life.

"Come on, let's get you out of these clothes," she says, taking note of my shivering. She helps me out of Carter's coat and hangs it in the hall before leading me back to the den. On the coffee table is a pair of pale blue pajamas, and I'm thankful to see pants instead of another nightgown.

"Hopefully these fit. I found them in the back of my drawer. Old relics from my younger years," she jokes lightly, handing me the pile. I take it from her wordlessly. "You can use the guest bathroom to change. And don't worry about the wet clothes, you can just leave them on the floor. I'll throw them in the wash tomorrow."

She gives me a reassuring smile before I go, but I can't find the strength to return it. I'm totally drained, and the idea of smiling about anything right now feels wrong. I'm not sure it'll ever feel right again.

When I flip on the bathroom light, I come face to face with a stranger. I don't recognize the girl staring back at me in the mirror. Her hair is a frizzy, undefined mess. Her face is streaked with mascara. The look in her eyes is broken; I see right through them to the hollowness underneath.

Turning away from my reflection, I focus on stripping off my clothes. The pajama top is a welcome change, its soft cotton warm against my skin. The pants are a little loose in the waist, but otherwise, they fit nicely. I fill my hands with warm water and bring them up to my face, washing away any leftover makeup. Patting my face dry with a spare towel, I shut off the light before I can catch another glimpse of myself.

I pad back down the hall and find Julia in her spot again, a blanket pulled up to her chest. The lamp has been replaced by a roaring fire; it crackles in the fireplace just across from the couch. Julia pats the seat next to her and hands me a mug as I settle in. I tuck my toes under the blanket and let the cup warm my hands. Marshmallows bob in the coco as I lean back against the couch, the cushions hugging me like an old friend.

We don't say anything at first. I take a tentative sip of the hot chocolate as my eyes drink in the room. It hasn't changed at all. The same grey carpet lines the floors, while Julia's favorite drapes hang lazily from the windows. In the back corner is an old bookshelf, the one Henry uses to hold all of his English publications. Every inch of the room holds a moment of familiarity, and each one helps me relax further into the couch until my head comes to rest against Julia's shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks softly, studying the fire over the rim of her own cup.

Whenever the temperature drops below fifty, it's guaranteed Julia will light the fireplace. It holds plenty of memories of its own, but one stands out above the rest. We had plans to camp outside that night, but a sudden storm had us scurrying back inside. It was supposed to be for his birthday, and I could tell at first he was disappointed.

But then, Julia lit the fire. She dragged out sleeping bags and arranged them around the mantle, ensuring enough distance between us and the flames. It turned the night around, and his smile was ear to ear as we told ghost stories and stuffed our faces with marshmallows. When we finally laid down, he settled in the middle. He fell asleep that night next to the people who cared about him most. We fell asleep that night as friends, something we thought would never change. It was us three against the world. Me. Carter.

And Mark.

I take in a shuddered breath as the pain creeps back in. All I can do is shake my head against her shoulder. I can't sit here and go over the details all over again because if I do, I'll break. So instead, I shift my focus to a more tolerable pain, one I've experienced plenty of times before. Carter betraying my trust isn't a shock to me; at this point, it's basically a guarantee.

"He didn't tell me."

Julia doesn't ask who I'm talking about. "I know."

"He said he didn't want me to go through this again."

I feel her nod next to me. "That's part of it. I think Carter would do just about anything to protect you."

The sweet aftertaste of chocolate turns bitter on my tongue. "I don't need his protection. I need his honesty. Omitting the truth is just as bad as lying about it."

Julia leans forward and sets her mug down on the coffee table, then wraps an arm around my shoulders. My ear comes to rest just above her heart; its rhythm is like a lullaby that helps ease my nerves — and my temper.

"I can't excuse Carter's choice not to tell you. When he called me the morning you lost your memory, I gave him three pieces of advice. Take you to the hospital. Ease you in with Brynn. And above all, tell you about Mark."

"One out of three," I put my mug down too, losing my appetite, "That's a failure in my book."

She's quiet for some time, so long I wonder if she'll say anything. I know it's hard for her to talk negatively about Carter. Even as kids, he could do no wrong in her eyes, something that got us out of trouble on more than one occasion.

"I want you to know, he's always been like this. So fiercely protective. I thought it was the cutest thing when he was young, considering he's the baby. No matter how mean Andrew and Michael were, Carter never wanted me to punish them. Before we moved here, he got sent home a couple times for fighting in school. Every time was in defense of someone else.

"There's nothing Carter won't do to protect who he cares about. But that protectiveness is both his greatest strength and greatest weakness. It gets in the way of him doing the right thing sometimes. The right thing was to tell you, even if it meant hurting you. And it's true, that was part of the reason he didn't. But I know Carter, sometimes better than he knows himself. You weren't the only one he was trying to protect. He might not realize it, but part of him didn't tell you because he was scared."

I frown. "Scared? Of what?"

"Losing you." She doesn't have to think about it. "After that first time, it's probably what scares him most in the world."

My mind flashes back to Carter, rain streaming down his cheeks. Back to what he shouted over the roar of the storm. The mere force behind it was what broke through before, but now there's time for the meaning to sink in. At some point, I felt this way and almost didn't recover. Experiencing it now, I can see why.

"He told me about that too," I say groggily. The combination of the blanket, her voice, and the comfort of the fire is making it hard to stay awake. "How I was after Mark."

This time, I'm almost asleep before she responds. "That's not the time I'm talking about."

Half conscious, her meaning takes time to set in. When it clicks, my adrenaline spikes, ridding any chance of me knocking out anytime soon. It can't be what she's talking about, but it's the only thing that makes sense. I'm almost afraid to ask in case I'm wrong.

But at this point, I have nothing left to lose.

"You mean the falling out?"

Her hair tickles my nose when she nods again. "That was a really hard time for Carter, not having you two around anymore. I'd catch him at bedtime glancing at his window, even though he refused to let me open the blinds. Whenever we passed Mark's street on the way to school, Carter stared straight at his lap. It broke my heart knowing how much he missed you both, but I also understood why he was keeping his distance. What happened with him and Mark is something no child should ever go through."

I sit up and almost spill my drink. Some of it sloshes over the rim and burns my fingers, but my attention is fully on Julia. She avoids my gaze, which tells me she didn't mean to let that last part slip.

"You know why they stopped being friends." I don't pose it as a question.

"Worse." When she finally looks at me, her eyes are tinged with sadness. "I was part of the reason."

The record scratches in my head. Of all the theories I had about Mark and Carter's fight, it never crossed my mind that someone else might've been involved. It makes those first months of middle school come into sharp focus. Remembering it now, Julia never seemed surprised that I wasn't over the house anymore. She acted like nothing was different whenever she saw me; it had me questioning if she even noticed I was gone.

Turns out, she did notice. She just already knew why.

A million questions bubble up to the surface, ones I've had for years but never the opportunity to voice. Now faced with someone who was directly involved, I feel like I don't know where to start.

It doesn't matter. Julia shakes her head before I can open my mouth. "It isn't my story to tell, sweetheart."

"But—"

"He will tell you," she says, reaching over to cup my cheek. "There's a lot of pain surrounding their fight, even now. I think Carter still blames himself for what happened, and he and Mark never got the chance to make things right. Just give him a little time. He told you once before, even if you can't remember now. He will tell you again."

I want to fight back, but it would be in vain. Julia was never strict growing up, but when she made up her mind about something, she stuck to it. I bite my tongue, but I'm frustrated. Expecting Carter to work up the nerve to tell me seems like a waste of time. Based on his previous track record, it'll probably take him another ten years.

But there's one question I have to ask, even if she doesn't answer. It's the one that's gnawed at me for years. "Was it my fault?"

For the first time, tears brim in her eyes. "No, Amber. It wasn't your fault. Those boys loved you so much, and the last thing either one of them would want is you blaming yourself. What tore Carter and Mark apart was so much bigger than you, or them, or even me. I don't think there's solely one person to blame. But I do think we all played a part in what happened, whether we meant to or not."

"Including me?" My voice is barely a whisper.

She pulls me in close again, and I let her heartbeat help steady my own.

"Yes, sweetheart. Including you."

I succumb to exhaustion and close my eyes, but my head is too muddled to feel any relief. I thought asking questions would make things clearer, but if anything, I'm more confused now than ever. What I always thought was a childish fight blown out of proportion now has new light. This was serious — so serious, Julia had to get involved.

When Carter cut me out, I assumed I was the one that did something wrong, but apparently, it was him. And whatever it was, he still blames himself almost twenty years later.

The fire has simmered down in its hearth, leaving the room nearly dark. In the quiet, I can just make out the sound of footsteps coming from upstairs. I imagine Henry shuffling around in his slippers, and I silently hope he'll come downstairs too. He's always had a knack for making bad situations better, and I could use a few of his corny jokes right about now.

"You know, I always wanted a daughter." Julia separates the curls in my hair absently, something she hasn't done since I was a girl. "I imagined learning to braid her hair and buying her little dresses. I caved and bought a couple when I got pregnant with Carter in hopes of nudging fate."

I don't know what to say; this isn't a story I've heard before, and I'm not sure where it's going. So I let her talk, thankful for any change in conversation.

"Henry and I had agreed on three kids, so Carter was our last shot. I'll be honest, I was disappointed that he was a boy, something he just loves hearing." She laughs softly before laying a kiss on my temple. "But wouldn't you know it, that third boy blessed me with the best daughter I could ever ask for."

My throat tightens as I pull back to look at her. Her cheeks are wet with tears, but beneath them, she's smiling.

"Thank you." It's not enough, but it's all I can get out. There aren't words to express how grateful I am, not just for tonight, but every time she was there for me over the years. Of all the gifts I've gained with this new life — the apartment in New York, a successful career — Julia as my mother-in-law is the one I cherish most.

"I should be thanking you, really," her look shifts to the entryway of the living room, "You gave me someone to wear all those little dresses."

I follow Julia's gaze over my shoulder and find Brynn, her hair a disheveled mess. The curls dance wildly around her head, indicative of recent sleep. I have no idea what time it is, but it's clear that she should be in bed.

"I've tried putting her down twice, but she just keeps getting back up. Persistent little thing, that one."

On first instinct, I want to shut down. This is my first time facing Brynn awake since that fateful morning, and I don't feel any more comfortable than before. But then, I think of Josie. Emma. Ronnie. Out there in the world somewhere. All because their mother couldn't be there for them.

With a shaky breath, I lift up from the couch. Brynn waits patiently as I make my way over, then kneel so we're at eye level. I'm hit with a rush of emotion as I study her little face, so open and full of light. Completely trusting of me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, caressing her cheek. It doesn't matter that she doesn't understand or know what for. She deserves an apology for how all of this has affected her.

Of course, she doesn't answer. Just stares at me lovingly through eyes the color of sweet honey—

But then, there's a glimmer.

It's subtle; so quick, I'm sure it's a trick of the light. With bated breath, I watch until her eyes flash again. A quick, flicker of blue that takes over her irises. A blue I'd know anywhere. For one blissful second, they look just like—

"Mark."

Brynn's face splits into a brilliant smile, so wide it takes up her whole face.

"Mama," she coos, raising a tiny hand to my cheek to wipe away fresh tears.

"Maybe you'll have better luck than me," Julia continues, unaware of the storm roaring in my mind. "You should both head on upstairs and get some sleep. I'll wait for Carter to get back."

It's insane. Impossible. It doesn't make sense.

I don't care. I lift Brynn into my arms and hold her close. She wraps her arms around my neck and snuggles against my shoulder, and it takes everything in me not to collapse. Taking a shuddered breath, I quiet my thoughts before heading towards the stairs. Working out what this means can wait till morning. Tonight, all I want is the emptiness of sleep.

Just before I turn the corner, Julia's voice stops me.

"Try not to be too angry with Carter." She gives me a knowing look, fully aware how hard a task that is for me. "He made a mistake, but he made it out of love. If there's one thing you should never question, it's how much he loves you."

I don't have an answer for that, at least not one I want to give her. Because truthfully, after the growing list of secrets, I'm starting to question it even more.

"Hey, we're almost there," a voice says, followed by an elbow nudging my side.

I lift my head gingerly from the car window. Blinking, I wait for my eyes to adjust, the sudden light from outside blinding. But when I register the view from my window, I shrink as far into my seat as I can.

Clouds.

Endless clouds, spanning for miles with not a road in sight. Shades of pink and gold light glimmer through the vapor, but I can't figure out where it's coming from. The sun is nowhere to be found; it's as if the light is radiating from within the clouds themselves.

I let my eyes travel across the sky, mouth ajar. It should feel like a dream, but everything is in such sharp focus that the landscape is practically breathing. If I didn't know logically that this was impossible, I'd think I was wide awake.

Then I look over at the driver's side, and I immediately wish I was.

His hands are at ten and two on the wheel, a rule he stands by no matter how fast he's driving. His window is cracked slightly, just enough for the sweet scent of citrus to waft through the car. The wind blows brown hair around his face as he drives on towards oblivion.

"Mark." I throw myself across the car and wrap my arms around his neck. I feel us swerve severely, but I just hold him tighter.

"Amber, I can't see the road," Mark grumbles, but I can hear a hint of a smile. He wriggles free from my grasp, but ruffles my hair before returning his attention back to the road. "It's only the first week of school. I'm not ready to die just yet."

It's like a sucker punch to the gut. My throat closes as the last twenty four hours come flooding back. I take Mark's hand in mine and let my fingers graze over his knuckles. I'm faced again with how real everything feels. Even his pulse pumps steadily under my fingertips.

"You're already dead, Mark," I choke out, because it's true. As much as I want to get lost in the clouds and forget everything again, this dream is going to end. I'm going to wake up, and when I do, my whole world will still be destroyed.

"No I'm not," Mark says simply. He checks his mirrors as if other cars are around. "It's still Friday."

"Huh?"

"It's still Friday," he repeats. He flips on his blinker before changing nonexistent lanes. "Darren's party isn't until tomorrow."

His face is calm, almost serene. It's a complete juxtaposition to what's coming out his mouth. Heat climbs up my spine until the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"What are you talking about, Mark?" I ask cautiously.

He doesn't get a chance to answer. The car jerks forward as if pulled by an invisible string before it falls into a nosedive.

Then, we're plummeting through the sky.

My stomach jumps up into my throat as the car picks up speed. Wind whistles through the cracked windows, a high pitch noise that climbs octaves the further we fall. I brace my hands against the dash like it's enough to stop what's coming.

"Mark, do something!" I scream over the chaos. Clutter flies around the station wagon, but when I look over at Mark, he's completely unfazed. He stares straight ahead, a vacant expression plastered on his face.

"I can't do anything." Even though there's noise all around us, his voice booms through like thunder.

Down, down, down we fall with no signs of stopping. The car cuts through layers of clouds, each one darker than the last. I panic and do what I've seen in the movies. Reaching over the gear shift, I grab the steering wheel and yank as hard as I can, whipping it back and forth to no avail.

"Why not?!" My hands fumble around, searching for anything to slow us down. It doesn't help that I know nothing about cars.

Mark's head slowly turns to face me. "You have to figure it out."

"Figure out what?" He's not making sense, and our impending crash isn't helping me concentrate.

Finally, that classic Mark smile breaks through."How to save me."

Shadows dance wildly across his face as we plunge further into darkness. All I can do is stare. My heart is pounding a mile a millisecond, but it's no longer from the fall. Even though I can see the pitch black awaiting us in my peripheral, I can't tear my eyes away from his.

"Save you from what?" Somehow, I don't think we're talking about the fall. It feels like Mark's trying to tell me something, but the message just isn't connecting.

Mark tilts his head to the side, as if surprised I haven't gotten it already.

"It isn't Saturday yet."

We're out of time. Mark disappears from view as we sink into the abyss. Before it all goes black, I faintly hear his voice, soft as whisper.

"Save me."