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choices you make and all the choices you don’t.
Maybe there’s a version of my life where I’m sick after all.
A version where I die in Hawaii.
Still another where my father and brother are still alive and my mother is not broken.
There’s even a version of my life without Olly in it.
But not this one.
Olly pulls his hands out of his pockets, plucks the book from the shelf and reads. He
grins and bounces lightly on the balls of his feet.
I come out of hiding. I walk down the aisle toward him.
The smile he gives me is worth living for.
“Found your book,” he says.