Cared for. Loathed. And … loved.⁣ Somewhere along the way, I’d found solace in the boy with brooding eyes.⁣ But everything happens in stages.⁣ And nothing good ever lasts.⁣

    One year ago, I held his hand and said goodbye. Now I spend most of my days lost somewhere between trying to remember every smallest detail of our lives, and trying to forget it all. I fill my hours with work until I’m too exhausted to remember him, to feel anything at all. One year, 365 days—and then one knock at my door changes everything. A letter from him, a last request, a secret will: My dearest Nadia,Trust me, my love. One last time, trust me. Sometimes the epilogue to one story is the beginning of another.

    A week ago, Dinah’s cousin Claire cut her wrists.Five days ago, Dinah found Claire’s diary and discovered why.Three days ago, Dinah stopped crying and came up with a plan.Two days ago, she ditched her piercings and bleached the black dye from her hair.Yesterday, knee socks and uniform plaid became a predator’s camouflage.Today, she’ll find the boy who broke Claire.By tomorrow, he’ll wish he were dead.