85
Peter
On Monday night, I prepare all of Sara’s favorite foods and open a bottle of sparkling grape juice for dinner. Though it’s now been a couple of days since Sara’s had any flashbacks, I hate the thought of leaving her alone for so long.
Even with her staying at the Esguerras’ house, with Nora and Yulia within shouting distance, I’m going to be worried the entire time I’m away.
“Why do you have to go?” she asks again, her heart-shaped face pinched with stress. Her plate, piled high with her favorite pasta, is sitting in front of her untouched, as is her champagne glass with the sparkling juice. She hasn’t eaten all day—not since learning that I’m going to London.
“You know it’s almost certainly a trap,” she continues as I contemplate how to get her to consume some calories. “He’
