It was the same every night, and it would be the same every night for the rest of my life. For the last seven years since I came home from university, I’d worn the same clothes, eaten the same food, woken up and gone to the bookstore most days. I had the same long, straight blonde hair, often tied up into a ponytail. When my glasses broke a couple years ago, I had bought the same ones again.
Nothing had changed, not in the store and not with me. My chest hollowed at the thought. Was this how the rest of my life would go?
No, it wouldn’t, I realized, because the bookstore wouldn’t be around much longer if things continued the way they were going. Panic streaked through my mind again.
“I forgot to tell you,” my dad said, standing and taking my empty plate to the dishwasher. “Your uncle Ri
