The moment the last word landed, something inside me shattered.
Tears came without warning—hot, violent, blinding. My knees gave out. The floor rose up to meet me, and I stayed there, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
Amy Ware and I were high school classmates. I harbored a crush on her for three agonizing years.
It wasn't until the day I received my university acceptance letter—confirming we'd be in the same city—that I finally worked up the nerve to confess.
That was the day I started this diary.
The sour ache of secret longing. The dizzying sweetness of mutual love. The hot tears of our first fight. I recorded every moment, pen to paper.
Truthfully, I'd forgotten this book existed. Amy was the one who kept it safe all these years.
Sometimes I'd come home to find her weeping over these pages, fingers tracing the words of the boy who used to love her.
I never asked why.
Not until pancreatic cancer put her in a hospital bed did this diary cross my mind again.
"Do you want me to bring it?" I'd asked, standing stiff and useless beside her.
She wouldn't even look at me.
"No. I don't want him to see me like this."