“But I’m the one who thought I could help people. Not hurt them. It’s my fault. I should’ve never started this blog. I just wanted to give people a taste of what we have.” I looked between them. “I can ask you both anything. Always. No judgment.” I shrugged, completely, utterly exhausted. “I wanted everyone to have that luxury.”

“We know,” Mom said.

“What do I do?”

She glanced at Dad before looking at me again. “We’ll talk to Tanner with you—”

“I don’t care about him,” I said. “I care about the girl. My responsibility or not. How do I make that right?”

“Do you know who she is?” Dad asked.

I shook my head. “She used an alias.”

“Do you think she attends Wilmont?” Mom asked.

“She said she would be a junior at Wilmont next year.”

Mom nodded. “Well, if you really want to make it right, you’ll need to find out who she is and speak to her in person. Offer her support. That is what she’ll need most, regardless of what she decides to do.”

My stomach clenched. “If I can’t find her?” The question was a whisper.

Both my parents eyed me.

“You know you can find her,” Dad said.

“Yeah,” I said, sighing. “I know.” It wouldn’t take much to trace backward from the alias’s email, but I was terrified. “But…what if she doesn’t want to be found?”

“You aren’t obligated,” Dad continued. “You can make a blanket statement apology post. You could email her back.”

“No,” I said, rising from my seat. “I want to see her. Talk to her. Be there for her. Whoever she is.” I headed toward the stairs, wanting to fall into bed for the rest of forever.

“Amber,” Mom said, stopping me at the foot of the stairs. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

I parted my lips, wanting to tell her about Dean, about the knife in my heart, but I was just so damned tired. “Not right now,” I said.

“Okay,” she said. Hugging me again. “We’re proud of you, baby.”

I shook my head. “I don’t deserve that.”

“You do,” she said, releasing me. “You’ll see that someday.”

I took the stairs two at a time, sealing myself inside my room. My computer stared at me from the desk, begging me to find the girl.

I didn’t have the energy. Wasn’t in the right frame of mind. But I sank into the chair anyway.

Dean—someone I’d given more of myself to than anyone in my life—had betrayed me. Wrecked me. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. To tell him the knowledge came from an outside source—my mother—not from personal experience.