For a moment I allow myself a sliver of hope that Jackson came back, but when I see the deep crimson hair, I know it’s Ash. She must have come home and crawled into bed with me knowing something happened. “Ash,” my voice croaks as I wake her. She groans and turns over, facing me and opening one eye. “Morning, lover.” It’s as if I’m back to how I felt five months ago all over again. My lip quivers as the agony of last night returns full force. “Ash …” She pulls me into her arms and rubs my back. “Shhh, Cat. It’ll be okay. Tell me what happened.” We sit and talk, going over the previous day’s events. She listens and offers support, never saying more than a few words or pulling me back into a hug. I show her the letter and Ashton sobs as she reads the words my father wrote. Her pain is my pain and my pain is hers. We’re like sisters—she knows how much this means to me. There are no secrets between us. She’s fully aware of how hard my childhood was. “How do you feel about what he wrote?”
