“That’s the thing, Ty. I would’ve loved that, but you stole it from me. You stole my identity, my life and dreams, my epic love and memories, my best friend, my family, and my hope. And you weren’t only part of it. Your lack of explanation tells me you authored it.” My voice cracks on the last three words, and I loathe myself for not controlling it better. He exhales a gush as we remain silent for a few beats before he finally breaks it. “Freckles—” “Don’t,” I chide, eyes trained on the bleak stretch of road ahead. “Part of me hates you for what you did—all of you. But there will always be a
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