Ava Johansson
Two weeks, fourteen days, three hundred and thirty-six hours, that's approximately,
twenty-thousand, one-hundred and sixty minutes has passed since her father's death. That's all it's
been. Now, she and Tessa are truly alone.
Her eyes water, and she blinks back the stem of tears because crying won't bring him back.
Ava's thoughts drift to her childhood.
She'd been playing in her father's office and found a brown leather book inside of a small
opening on the side of his desk along with a handful of others. She'd flipped through the pages,
reading what her father had written inside.
Back then, she thought they were make-believe stories her father had made up. Things he
didn't want to share with anyone because they were his private thoughts, his escape from the
