“She got in touch through my agent. Listen, Blaire. She told me everything. You need help.”

Blaire felt her face flush hot. She hadn’t missed that he’d said “my” agent, not “our.” “What did she tell you?”

“Everything. How you sent her all those horrible messages. The dead animals.”

“She’s lying. Her husband is a gold digger, and she doesn’t want to see it. He’s been cheating on her. I have pictures I can show you. She’s putting this all on me to save her reputation.”

“Blaire, she told me about the fire. That you tried to kill her and frame her husband.”

“No, no. She’s choosing Simon over me all over again, and now she’s trying to turn you against me.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and she heard a loud exhale. “I’m sorry, Blaire. But this is just too much. Things were already bad between us, but this . . . I don’t even know who you are anymore. You need to get help.”

“No!” she screamed, banging her fist against the wall. “They’re all liars. Can’t you see it? Daniel, you have to come back to me. I need you.”

“I’m hanging up now. Please don’t contact me again. My attorney will be in touch.”

She threw the phone across the room and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Running into the dining room, she began to pick up crystal glasses and hurl them at the wall. When her rage was spent, she sank to the floor, sweat dripping down her face, and stared unmoving at the wreckage.

After she had calmed down, she poured herself a whiskey and pulled out an old photo album from high school. Most of the pictures were of her and Kate together. There were shots of them at the beach, at Kate’s house, Blaire’s dorm room. Parties and events. She looked at their two faces, trying to see if it was obvious that they were sisters. Did they have the same dimples around their smiles? Graduation and holidays. She paused a moment at a photo of Lily and herself outside the Booth Theatre in New York. Her mother. Her real mother. Beautiful and kind. There were pages and pages of wonderful times and proof of Lily’s and Kate’s affection for her. Proof that she’d been part of a loving family once. She felt something wet on her hand and realized she was crying. She’d loved them all, hadn’t she? Given them everything until she had nothing left. But it wasn’t enough. Why did they all leave? Why did everyone always leave?