When he wrapped me in his arms as tight as he could, I had one last thought before falling asleep—that my depression stemmed more from losing Beck and living without him than anything my dad had done. It was as if half my heart had been cut from my chest, and the other half did what it could for as long as it was able, but at some point, it began to fail. Because it knew a life without Beck wasn’t much of a life at all.
