The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

by Stuart Turton

Are we shards of the same soul, responsible for each other’s sins, or entirely different people, pale copies of some long-forgotten original?

Tomorrow can be whatever I want it to be, which means for the first time in decades, I can look forward to it. Instead of being something to fear, it can be a promise I make myself. A chance to be braver or kinder, to make what was wrong right. To be better than I am today. Every day after this one is a gift. I just have to keep walking until I get there.