“Hear me out.” He interlaced his fingers with hers. “I know in an ideal world, you should have all the time you need to work through your anger, loss and betrayal for your friendship. But Jess is losing ground and we’re almost out of time. Leo is my son and I can’t and won’t shy away from that. He’ll be living here sooner rather than later and we need to prepare for it. We need to prepare the girls. If you don’t talk to Jess before she dies, I’m terrified her legacy will be that we won’t survive as a family.”

“I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.”

“Perhaps you already have.”

“What?”

Nick flinched. “You’re barely speaking to your mother and you’re refusing to see Leo …” He didn’t say, “And we’re not out of the woods yet.” He didn’t have to—it was clear on his face.

Unless you deal with your rage, Libby, it will become a permanent part of you and you’ll lose everyone you love. She heard her mother’s unwanted prophecy and this time she couldn’t ignore it. Her heart kicked up, rushing agitation along her veins as she glimpsed two different versions of her future—neither of them what she wanted. “I hate this so much.”

“I know. We all do. There are no winners, but Libs, we can try and prevent there being any more losers.”

Libby knew he was thinking of Leo. Of the girls. Of their marriage. Their future.

And that’s when it hit her, reverberating through her like shock waves and upending the mess of emotions she’d been so desperate to hold onto to keep her safe from ever being hurt again. She might be a doctor, someone who cared for a living, but Nick was the better person.

“You’re far kinder than me.”

He shook his head slowly. “I didn’t lose as much as you did.”

Libby was familiar with a palliative care set up, but the shock of seeing a hospital bed in Jess’s small living room made her sway. The thin and emaciated woman with the huge belly and sunken eyes didn’t look anything like the vibrant woman who’d once been her best friend. Anguish rode alongside her anger and her feet refused to move beyond the doorway.

“Hello, Jess.”

“Libby?” Jess turned her head. “Are you trying to outdo me at looking like death?”

It was typical Jess and it wounded Libby, reminding her of how close she’d once thought they were. How far apart they were now. “I’m sorry you’re dying.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” The question came out automatically, honed by years of doctoring.

Jess barked a laugh, which turned into a coughing fit.

Libby hastily poured her a glass of water. “Here.”