❝ –– 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.
“You can’t know that. You can’t promise— Every time I start to be happy, the universe finds a new and fresh way to screw me up again. I’m just done. I’m over it.”
“You’re right. I don’t know that. But I just — I have to try. It’s exhausting; it’s cruel, but then I think of how Henry never got to have this life. And I know I have to live it for h i m .”
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