Willow and I spent an evening steeped in joy and shared confidences.
In this house, so like the one I’d known with my parents, with my dearest, most trusted friend by my side, it felt as if the regrets of my girlhood were softly mended. The warm glow of the fireplace, our peals of laughter, the freedom to speak whatever crossed our minds, and the quiet moments lying side by side, gazing at the starry sky through the window—all shimmered with a crystalline beauty.
Willow, tipsy and beaming, cupped my face. “This is perfect, Layla. I want every day of your future to feel like this—no, better, brighter with each one!”
“Alright, alright.” I chuckled, brushing her cheek, helping my little drunkard to her feet and guiding her toward the door.
Her family’s driver idled outside, waiting.
Orig
