Prologue
I swore Leah’s suitcases were taunting me, all perfectly lined up next to the door. Waiting. They could have ripped my heart out of my chest like a demon in a horror flick and presented it to me with a vicious, demoralizing howl of laughter, and it wouldn’t have hurt any less.
“You don’t have to go.” I couldn’t quite bring myself to make eye contact.
“I do. And we both know it,” she replied, her voice lacking any of its usual Leah-ness.
After all these years, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this crappy—the perpetual pit in my stomach, the pangs of anxiety, and of course, there were the tears. These days, they seemed to appear more and more frequently.
“When will you be back?” I attempted to withhold the whininess.
And failed miserably.
“I don’t know.” She sighed.
