I fall to the dock and press my face against the cold, wet wood.
FARAH
I don’t call it. I’m in the hospital in an unofficial capacity. But I’m there when the emergency room doctor makes the declaration.
“Time of death, 4:44 p.m.”
THREE MONTHS LATER
AIMEE
After we left Stars Harbor, I insisted that Margot move into our house—and Adam move out. Selflessly risking his life to pull Ted from the stormy water, and then going back to do it again for Rini, was reckless but honorable. Those final acts were his saving grace, and the only reason I didn’t file divorce papers as soon as we got home. Still, a break was nonnegotiable.
In my reading, Rini had told me that every loss makes space for gain. Although I was terrified to lose my family and our picture-perfect life, I was finally ready to take that risk. Truth be told, the alternative was no longer feasible. I could no longer ride along with every plot twist and turn Adam dreamed up on the fly. His books might need to continually raise the stakes, building to an over-the-top climax, but real life requires more stability than fiction.
Moving Margot in, at the same time as Adam was leaving, helped ward off too many questions from the girls. They were happy to have their aunt in the house for a while.
Since Adam doesn’t feature prominently on my social media accounts, I originally had no intention of exposing our separation. Yet something compelled me to share that I was struggling. A small voice in the depth of my belly—a whisper that didn’t understand algorithms and high-engagement content—told me to tell the truth. The messy truth. I wanted to admit that no, I didn’t have it all under control, and no, I didn’t have it all figured out.
Farah, on the other hand, knew her relationship was over after Joe was willing to use their son to save his political career. Beckett is thriving in occupational therapy twice a week, but Joe and Farah are in mediation to dissolve their marriage. I’m decidedly unsure whether our separation is the first step toward Adam and me divorcing or whether, like my photo shoots, this is one of the dozens of tries it takes to get it right. And it’s okay to let the future remain out of focus.
I don’t know… yet. But I will.
That was the takeaway of my first “honest” post, which was viewed by 350,000 users in its first twenty-four hours. My following has continued to grow by tens of thousands with each post. Most of my grid is still populated with adorable pics of the girls, but my sad Solo cup of wine gets shared twice as much. I was worried Margot would see my admissions as betrayal, but she’s proud of me for not going to extremes and instead trying to find peace in the middle. It proves to her that I’ve changed.
She’s also got a lot more on her mind than my loyalty to her brother.
I thought nothing of it when Margot found herself exhausted and vomiting regularly after Ted’s funeral. She was in distress. But when the weeks became nearly two months, I begged Farah to run some blood tests to make sure this wasn’t anything more than extraordinary grief.
Turned out it was something more: the cruelest twist of fate. Remember all those fainting spells Margot had that weekend at Stars Harbor? They weren’t from stress. After five years of unsuccessfully trying to conceive, Margot was pregnant. It was what she’d always wanted, but now this blessing was awash in darkness. Margot is carrying the offspring of a—I won’t say it, because my nurse mother warned me against speaking ill of the dead, but you know what he was.
I told Margot she had choices, but she refused to consider the multiple reasons in favor of termination. She is convinced that if there’s any ounce of evil passed on from Ted’s DNA in this miracle baby, her nurturing will overpower his nature. Again, I’m not so sure yet.
Farah and I make a great team caring for Margot—she’s the medical guru for the challenging pregnancy, while I’m the emotional support. The three of us are bonded deeper than I could’ve imagined before our astrology retreat weekend.
Even after they move out, I expect to keep Margot and her baby close, not only because I love my sister-in-law and my future niece or nephew, but to make sure her judgment isn’t as clouded as it was with Ted. I’ll be her eyes wide open. The best thing I took away from Stars Harbor was a healthy dose of skepticism.
ANDI
Margot’s demand for a homicide investigation around Ted’s death was granted, but it proved inconclusive. I was vocal about Rini’s act being nothing short of heroic. The other witnesses—Adam, Aimee and Farah—were mostly silent, each for their own reasons, but even hard interrogation could not produce compelling evidence that the events of that evening were anything more than a terrible accident fueled by alcohol and a raging tropical storm. I say it was fate.
Margot, on the other hand, had a whole sordid story of what had transpired that afternoon. The police tried to take her seriously, but she had too many strikes against her as an unreliable witness, including her blackouts that weekend and her distraught widowhood. In the end, her story of unseen connections and twisty acts of vengeance, while fascinating, didn’t hold water with the prosecution.
“Write a novel,” the detective said. “I hear it’s therapeutic.”
If she ever considered it, Margot didn’t say. But it stuck with me. Maybe I have a disturbing tale in me that’s almost ready to come out.
Over the first few weeks I asked myself whether Ted’s death was justice. Did he deserve to die because of what he did to me ten years ago? Did he deserve to die because, when confronted all these years later, he refused to admit his wrongdoing and suffer the consequences of his actions? Did he deserve to die because he threw me into the water with the intention to drown me?
Did Ted deserve to die at all?
I don’t know how to answer that. But I know I didn’t deserve what he did to me. We don’t always get what we deserve, good or bad.
Watching my sister die for me changed my life forever. The very next day, I woke up and vowed to run Stars Harbor as she did, with as little interruption as possible. With Eric’s support and quiet protection, I’m getting stronger every day. I’ve accepted that I will never trust strangers, but I’ve also realized I don’t need to in order to face the world. It’s more important to trust myself. I never would have tried if Rini hadn’t sacrificed her life for me, and now I’m slowly learning.
After a few private-invitation test runs, Stars Harbor officially reopened for the winter holidays and we’ve been booked solid. I might not be as gracious of a host as my sister, but after doing charts with her for seven years, I’m nearly as confident as she is in a reading. Early feedback has been overwhelmingly positive.
“New Year’s Eve booking went live this morning,” I tell Eric when I climb into his truck. “We incited a bidding war.”
“How many groups were in the running?”
“Six. We ended up at $5,000 a night.”
Eric whistles low and long.
“It’s all for her,” I say.
New Year’s Eve is the highly anticipated weekend of Rini’s return. Beginning with the next calendar year, we’ll run Stars Harbor together.
Eric and I walk into the rehabilitation facility together, but he hangs back in the hallway to let me greet her first.
“Are you ready?” I ask my sister. She nods.
It’s time for me to return the favor and take care of her.
RINI
On the Friday before Thanksgiving, I am officially released from the rehab facility where I’ve been living. Over the past months I’ve regained my cognitive ability, my motor skills, and my memory. All the things I lost on the day I died. Which, thanks to Farah, is now the day I was reborn.
