“You haven’t talked to her, have you? You probably don’t have a clue about what even happened that night, other than bits and pieces you pick up in overheard conversation, because you never really listen or care. Don’t act like you’re protecting anyone but yourself and your self-deluded reality.”

Robin pushed past me, her finger tautly aimed at Owen’s chest.

“I know you, Owen.” She jabbed him once, her voice a low growl. “I’ve known you for almost two decades. You pretend to be so holier-than-thou, acting the part of dedicated provider, but the reality is that you treat your family like garbage, you think even less of your friends, and you fight not because it’s right, but because you like winning. Even if you’re winning at your own lonely game. Even if winning costs my son his life. You’re a narcissistic, weak little man who bulldozes over others to make yourself feel big and powerful. Well, I won’t let you run over my family. I promise you, Owen, you won’t win this time. I will take you down . . . to hell, if I have to.”

I wanted to applaud her. But I couldn’t, because I stood in an impossible place between my husband and my best friend.

Robin glared at him for an uncomfortable moment, then turned to me.

“And you—I pity you, Mackenzie. You’re dead to me. Don’t call me, don’t speak to me. We’re done.”

“Robin, please—” I begged, reaching out for her, but her back was already turned and she was halfway off the porch.

“Let her go.” Owen grabbed my shoulder, pulling me back. “You don’t need her.”

I watched as the first person I had trusted completely blustered down my sidewalk and out of my life. We had history together—literally. It was freshman year in Humanities 101 class, and Robin Goldman picked the wobbly chair next to me. I was a Dean’s List student, studious and friendless. Robin was outgoing and thoughtful, the kind of girl who befriended the unlikeables. When I wanted to hide in the library, she would drag me to social events. When we collided, everything changed.

She’d invited me to lunch after that first class together, and she wouldn’t accept no for an answer. I needed a friend like her. That day we made fun of our professors. We rated hot guys. We shared our meals. We laughed, we teased, we connected. That day we didn’t just become lunch buddies; that day we forged a friendship that would eventually be tested with fire. A literal fire. A fire that had destroyed my face. If we could get through that, certainly we could get through anything.