Brendan's door. She didn't belong there, listenin

r from her mother's second marriage. A ghost

ymore. She wouldn't c

days. The countdow

n the small, star-shaped night light on her bedside table. B

whispered, plugging it in. Its soft glow ha

a promise he had lo

d it off. The room plunged

her closet and began to purge her life of him. She opened the

ade music box that played their favorite song. The silv

e of affection and careful presents turning into garbage. The

Inside were her diaries, their pages yellowed with a

next entry described how Brendan had shown up at her school the next day and spoken to the girl. The b

dan took me to the park. Brendan taught me how to ride a

was an entry from the day before her confession

, his handwriting bold and confident. "And when you graduate,

ng the ink. She quickly wi

nd began to tear them apart. Each rip was a final, painfu

confetti-like scraps, she dumped t

d over the railing and saw Brendan and Chloie in the foyer. He was whis

er hand grippi

her. "Jayde! Come down!

l, elegant box fro

stairs slowly, her f

you a slice of mango mousse cake," Chloi

s severely alle

f dried mango out of her hand at a market. "Don't you ever eat that," he'd sai

voice impatient. He didn't even look at

anymore. The special protection, the quiet acts

proof. The last nail in the

m Chloie, forcing a

thoughtful." She even glanced

title, a flicker of surprise in

ning to go back to her