he had no reason to. He had seen a person, not a nuisance. To entangle his tragedy with her desperation, to use

folder. Her dec

r senses. She took Eleanor's frail, sleeping hand in hers. The skin was thin, like paper. A

ardians. Inside, surrounded by the quiet hum of people trying to better their lives, she felt a sense of purpose return. She spent three hours on a public computer,

r numbers. They were built on her own effort, not on a handout

or's cooking, she took the heavy, embossed Carlisle folder and shoved it deep int

oked at her reflection in the small, cracked mirror by the door. Her ey

toast and ate it standing at the counter. It was the be

ing the most efficient routes. She would forget Spencer. She would forget the Carlisles and their ab

o the universe for him. She hoped a miracle would find him. But it woul

t felt since the day she'd met Spencer. The future was a terrifying, uncertain path, but for the first time in a long