She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as a cold realization seeped into her bones. This—all of this—was her fault. Every thread of tragedy that had unraveled in the last forty-eight hours traced back to her. She had wanted Joey. Had begged for him. Had made her father promise to get her Joey in exchange for getting rid of Ivy.

He had looked her in the face and lied to her.

Now, as she stood outside the church, her stomach twisted in dread. If this was no accident, she thought, then Dad did it. He killed her. And if he killed her... then Ivy’s disappearance isn’t a coincidence.

Her hands flew to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. "Oh my God..."

"Dad," she whispered under her breath. "What did you do?"

She heard Trish calling her name. The courtyard around her shimmered with sunlight. Sylvia stood frozen, the lace hem of her dress fluttering in the crisp autumn wind. Her heart was a pounding drum in her chest, each beat screaming one truth — she did this. She hurt her brother. She hurt Joey. She hurt everyone.

She hadn’t meant this. God, not this. She had wanted love, not blood. And somewhere along the line, she had stopped being his daughter and had become one of his pawns.

When did that happen?

"Syl!" Sylvia turned, blinking at the blur that became her friend. Trish grabbed her arm, eyes wide. "What—what is going on? You’re scaring me."

Sylvia tried to swallow but her throat felt raw, dry, useless. "Uh... Diane..."

Trish frowned. "Who is Diane?"

"Joey’s wife," Sylvia forced out. "She got in an accident."

"Oh my God." Trish’s hand flew to her mouth. "Is she—"

"She’s gone," Sylvia whispered, cutting her off. Her eyes darted toward the church doors. Guests still lingered inside. "Listen, could you... could you stay and wait for Ivy? In case she comes. I... there’s something I have to do."

Trish hesitated. "Syl..."

"I’m fine," Sylvia lied. Her lungs burned. She gestured vaguely around them. "I just need air."

Trish’s brows knitted. "You are in the courtyard, babe. You’ve got plenty of air."

"I mean..." Sylvia’s laugh came out broken, humorless. "I need privacy."

Trish softened, nodding. "Okay. Take care. I’ll call if I hear anything."

Sylvia nodded back, but her eyes had already glazed over with a thousand thoughts. She turned and walked to her car. When she reached the door, she paused. "You started this," she whispered to her reflection. "Now you finish it."

She slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

*****

At Angel Dove Private Hospital, Winn had to take charge because Joey simply... couldn’t. The man was catatonic, a shell of the usually vibrant friend Winn had known all his life.

Winn stood at the counter, shoulders squared. "Yes, we’re here to identify her." He looked toward Joey. The nurse nodded in response and dialled for the doctor in charge.

The doctor finally approached, his face grave and composed in that professional way that said he’d done this a thousand times and still hated every second of it. Joey’s eyes lifted only for a second before he looked away.

Joey couldn’t do it. He shook his head violently. "I can’t," he said. "Winn, I can’t see her like that." His whole body trembled; the veins in his neck stood out as he tried to keep from falling apart completely. "I haven’t seen her in two days. I don’t want this—I don’t want this to be how I see her again."

"Hey, hey, okay. You don’t have to. It’s okay."

"She was supposed to meet me at the church," Joey murmured, his eyes glazed with shock. "For your wedding this morning. She texted me—she said she’d be late, said she was picking up another gift for Ivy. Who buys a gift the morning of the wedding?" His laugh was hollow, jagged at the edges.

"Winn, I cannot do this. I cannot see her cold and still."

"Okay, okay," Winn said softly, forcing calm into his tone. "I’ll go. It’s okay, I got you. Just sit here and wait for me."

Joey ran a hand down his face, the motion sluggish and broken. "I just... I want to remember how beautiful she was. That’s all." His lips trembled. "I don’t want that gone."

"I know, bro. I know." He placed a steady hand on Joey’s shoulder and squeezed gently. "Sit down, all right? I got this."

He gestured toward one of the chairs by the wall. Joey nodded numbly and sank into it. Winn pulled off his jacket and draped it over the next chair. Then he turned toward the doctor, who nodded solemnly and motioned for him to follow.

The corridor seemed longer than it should have been. Every step echoed. The overhead lights buzzed faintly. The air was cold, too clean, thick with antiseptic. It reeked of endings.

They stopped at Ward 56. Winn hesitated in the doorway, the silence pounding in his ears. The nurse — a petite woman with soft brown eyes — offered a sympathetic nod. "Take your time, sir," she said.

He swallowed, then stepped forward. His fingers twitched at his sides. The sheet covering the body looked too short, too light. It shouldn’t have been Diane under there. Not Joey’s wife.

He gave a small nod. One of the nurses reached out and gently pulled down the cover.

The world stopped.

Diane’s pale face appeared — serene, peaceful, but wrong. Her hair was tangled at the edges, and her lips were tinted faintly blue. Winn’s knees nearly gave out. He gasped into his fist, choking on it, trying to keep it together.

He had prayed, begged, hoped there’d been some kind of mistake. Maybe the hospital had mixed up names. Maybe she’d walk in any second, annoyed that everyone was overreacting. But no — it was Diane. Beautiful, lively, kind Diane.

His stomach twisted violently. He turned away, running a hand over his face, exhaling shakily. He felt the burn of tears behind his eyes but forced them back. Joey didn’t need to see him break. Someone had to hold it together — someone had to stay upright when everything else was falling apart.