The day before my flight to Kingsford, my best friend was celebrating her 24th birthday. She beamed from ear to ear. "You and Wyatt are both family that I chose myself. Family isn't always about blood." I smiled, but I didn't say a word. After all, it had always been Sharon Walker and Wyatt Hayes' favorite line—we're family. Making her breakfast? Because we're family. Drying her hair, wiping away her tears, even rocking her to sleep? Because we're family. Wyatt picked up a slice of beef, carefully dipped it in the sauce, and placed it into Sharon's bowl. Then, without thinking, he fished out a piece of garlic and dropped it onto my plate. Watching him, I couldn't help remembering the day he accepted my confession. "I don't get emotional easily—that's just how I'm wired," he told me. "Honestly, I have no idea how to treat girls." I quietly tossed the garlic into the trash and watched Sharon drink from the glass Wyatt held for her. Wyatt, it wasn't that you didn't know how to treat a girl right. You just never wanted to treat me right. "Viola, the Kingsford confidential project lasts three years. Have you really made up your mind?" Without looking up, I replied, "Yeah. There's no one here worth staying for." From now on, I wouldn't let them keep using the excuse of being "family" to make me swallow every bit of hurt in silence.