the damsel in distress. You’re trusting her to make her own choices, even when you don’t agree with the choice.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat. There’s something I’ve been wondering, but I’m not sure how to ask.
Screw it. “Would you have left Eric?” I blurt. “If I hadn’t come home and threatened him, would you still be stuck in an abusive marriage with a cheating prick?”
Julia takes her time responding. “I’m not sure. I like to think I’d have grown the balls to leave. Having Jordan changed me. Understanding I had a reason to want better for myself. For her.”
I nod absently, still scanning for Izzy. My gaze settles on a different set of dark curls framing electric green eyes. Bree Bracelyn meets my gaze and waves, her brow furrowed. She says something to Austin, then slips away and heads straight for us.
“Hey.” She smiles at Julia. “Great necklace.”
“Thanks.” My sister fingers the strands of intertwined pearls at her throat. “They belong to my mother. That reminds me, I should check in.”
I quirk an eyebrow at my sister. “You worried Jordan built a Lego prison and penned Mom inside?”
Julia rolls her eyes. “Or maybe she played her grandma like a boss and earned cocoa and ice cream for dinner.” My sister flashes one of her mom-smiles at Bree. “Jordan’s got our mother wrapped around her little finger.”
Bree laughs. “I feel you there. Austin’s dad is even worse than his mom. I swear those two would beat each other to death with couch pillows for the chance to hold Brian for two minutes.”
Julia smiles and touches my arm. “I’ll see you at the table, okay?”
I watch her go, thinking how grateful I am that she’s part of my life. Having a sister, it’s one of those things I’ve taken for granted. I remember Izzy’s words about how much she’s loved getting to know all her siblings and their partners. Will they stay close after she leaves?
A lump forms sour and thick in my throat, and I force myself to swallow it back as I look at Bree. “Gorgeous wedding, huh?”
“It was perfect.” She bites her lip and steps a little closer. “Look, it’s probably not my place to say anything, but I know about Izzy. About the reason she cut things off.”
The lump surges higher in my throat, clawing its way up my esophagus. “I’d fight for her if I could,” I admit. “But how do you fight against years of family obligation and guilt?”
I’m asking for real. I know I framed it as a rhetorical question, but I really want to know if I have any leg to stand on.
Bree studies me for a moment, hesitating. “I’m not sure I should say anything, but—”
“Bree, please. If there’s anything at all that might fix things with Izzy, I’m all ears.”
Again, she pauses. Then she steps closer and lowers her voice. “Did Izzy mention how her baby brother died?”
“What? No, I don’t think so.” I scroll back through the conversation. She was sobbing so hard by that point in the story that I didn’t press her. “She must have been babysitting when something happened?”
“Yes, but it’s not like there was some sort of accident. As far as I understand, she just put him down for a nap.”
Realization floods me, chilly and sharp. “SIDS?”
“Exactly. I mean, I don’t think they use that term in Dovlano, but she said something about how she shouldn’t have laid him on his side or put a teddy bear in his crib. Obviously, she blames herself.”
Another wave of awareness washes over the others. “Her own family blames her, too.” I’m not sure she said this directly, but I can read between the lines in hindsight. “It’s common for families to seek a scapegoat when a baby dies, but it couldn’t be her fault.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“There’s not a ton of research on SIDS, but most experts believe it’s a result of the brain failing to properly control breathing and heart rate. Not something caused by human actions.”
“Maybe she knows that on a factual level,” Bree says. “She’s smart as hell. But guilt has a way of twisting people’s brains into balloon animals.”
Something in her eyes tells me she knows this firsthand. I don’t know Bree’s backstory, but I’m sure none of the Bracelyn siblings had the easiest childhood. It had to be tough growing up with a serial philanderer for a father and a silver spoon wedged far enough down their throats to tickle their