❝ –– perhaps it’s true that things can change in a day. and when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house—the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture—must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. and suddenly, they become the bleached bones of a story.
“That’s such a crock. Look, I appreciate– Thanks for the offer, but unless– Unless you can bring her back, there’s not really anything you or anyone else can do here. I just– I need s o m e t h i n g – anything to just let me breathe just for a second. Because I don’t know how to survive this – not again. Like no matter what I do, I just– I choke. So I can’t. I can’t just– There’s nothing you can do. Everything hurts.”
“I get that. But if there’s one thing I
learned after Henry died, it’s that there’s no use clinging on to a m e m o r y. I know you want her back; I do — but it’s only going to hurt you more when all
your wishes come to nothing. I wasted so much time holding on to his ghost — time that Henry never got to have — and I’m always going to regret it. But I’m done with letting my life go to waste now, and I’ve only gotten stronger for it.”