A Wrinkle in Time. It was the same worn copy I’d read with my dad. “Flip to the end,” Anson said softly. My throat constricted, winding tight. But I was braver now. And I trusted this man with everything I had. My hands trembled as I flipped through the yellowed pages until I reached that final chapter. I stilled as I got to the last page. A beautiful bookmark lay there, one with flowers pressed into the thick paper. And on it read, The End is only a chance for another beginning. Tears spilled over as Anson pulled the bookmark free. At the end of it was what I first thought was a charm. But it
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