The knock comes at 11 PM, exactly thirteen hours before I'm supposed to marry Julian. I'm standing in our tiny kitchen, wrapping champagne flutes in tissue paper for tomorrow's celebration, when the sound freezes me in place. Julian looks up from the couch where he's been scrolling through his phone, his dark hair falling across his forehead the way it always does when he's distracted. "Who the hell—" he starts, but I'm already moving toward the door. Through the peephole, I see her. Sienna Hartwell — Julian's childhood best friend, the girl who's always been just a little too close, just a little too familiar. She's wearing a cream-colored sweater that makes her look soft and vulnerable, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. I open the door. "Lila." Her voice breaks on my name. Her eyes are red-rimmed, mascara smudged beneath them. "I'm so sorry. I tried to handle this on my own, I really did, but I can't—" She looks past me to Julian, who's risen from the couch. "Julian, I need to talk to you." "It's late, Sienna." Julian's tone is careful, the way you'd speak to someone standing on a ledge. "Can this wait until—" "I'm pregnant." The words land like a physical blow. I feel the air leave my lungs. Sienna's hand trembles as she reaches into her purse. She pulls out a small square photo — an ultrasound image — and a white plastic stick with two pink lines. "Eight weeks," she whispers. "From that night in September. The night you said you couldn't remember." Julian goes pale. Actually pale, like all the blood has drained from his face. "That's not— we didn't—" "You were drunk." Sienna's voice is small, almost apologetic. "You said you and Lila had that huge fight about the wedding, about her wanting to postpone again. You showed up at my apartment at midnight. I shouldn't have let you in, I know that, but you were so upset and I—" She presses her hand to her mouth. "We didn't mean for it to happen." I'm still holding a champagne flute. I set it down carefully on the small table by the door because my hands have started shaking. "Julian?" My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from someone else. He's staring at Sienna like she's a stranger. "I don't remember that night. I remember the fight, I remember leaving, but I thought I went to Marcus's place. I woke up on his couch the next morning." "You came to me first." Sienna takes a step closer, and I see tears sliding down her cheeks. "We were together for maybe an hour, and then you left. You said you needed to clear your head. I assumed you went to Marcus after." The apartment feels too small suddenly. The walls are closing in. I've spent three years with Julian. Three years building toward this moment, toward tomorrow, toward the rest of our lives. And now this girl is standing in our doorway, crying, holding proof of a night that might destroy everything. "I need you to come with me," Sienna says, looking directly at Julian now. "My mother's lake house. Tonight. We need to figure this out before you make the biggest mistake of your life." "The biggest mistake—" I finally find my voice. "We're getting married tomorrow. We've planned—" "I know." Sienna's eyes meet mine, and there's something in them I can't read. Desperation, maybe. Or guilt. "I know, and I'm so sorry, Lila. But if this baby is Julian's, he deserves to know before he makes a legal commitment to someone else. You both deserve that." Julian runs his hands through his hair, a gesture I know means he's overwhelmed. "I can't just leave. The wedding is at ten AM. Everyone's already—" "I'll be back by morning," he says, but he's not looking at me anymore. He's looking at Sienna, at the ultrasound photo she's still holding. "We'll talk, we'll figure this out, and I'll be back in time. I promise." "Julian, please don't do this." I hate how my voice breaks. "Not tonight. Not like this." But he's already moving toward the bedroom, grabbing his jacket, his keys. Sienna waits by the door, her eyes downcast, the picture of remorse. When Julian comes back, he stops in front of me. "I love you," he says. "Nothing changes that. But I need to know if—" He can't finish the sentence. I watch him leave. I watch Sienna follow him out, her hand briefly touching his arm as they walk toward the stairs. I watch through our apartment window as they get into her car — her driving, Julian in the passenger seat, his head in his hands. The taillights disappear around the corner. I stand there in the silence of our apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes and wrapped champagne flutes, and I don't cry. I can't. The shock is too complete. Then I see it. The phone charger still plugged into the wall by the couch. Sienna's charger — she's left it here before, during one of her too-frequent visits. I walk over to unplug it, and that's when the phone screen on the couch lights up with a notification. Sienna's phone. Not her charger. Her actual phone. The text message preview glows in the darkness: "Did he buy it? Is he coming?"