LAYLA'S POV
I find the sketchbook before I find the water.
It's propped against my door beside the glass with the lemon slice, open to a page that makes me stop breathing. Me. In the library. Years ago - before Garrett, before the wedding, before any of it. My face turned slightly to the side with an expression I recognize because I remember the moment he drew it.
I was asking him if I was making a mistake.
I pick up the sketchbook and sit on my bed and turn the pages and my chest gets tighter with every one. Me at fourteen with flour on my face. Me at seventeen with a pen in my teeth. Me at the bar with Nina. Me in the hallway. Me on the back steps. Me, me, me - every page, every year, every version of me he's been carrying in this book while I had no idea.
I close it and press my ha
