Leah
The moment I told Lena that Dad wanted her to come home with us, I saw it.
Fear.
Not ordinary nerves.
Not the uncertainty of meeting someone new.
Pure, unmistakable terror.
The second she’d heard that my father wanted to meet her, she’d bolted for the bedroom and started throwing her belongings into a suitcase.
And watching her panic had felt like someone had punched me straight in the stomach.
Because this wasn’t some dangerous rogue we’d been warned about.
This was Lena.
The girl who cooked for us.
The girl who did our laundry without being asked.
The girl who listened patiently to our ridiculous arguments and somehow always managed to make us laugh when things got tense.
She was thoughtful.
Kind.
Funny.
And, somehow, she’d become one of my closest friends in a matte
