The Rest of the Story

by Sarah Dessen

Parents are always precious. But when you only have one, they become crucial.

I wanted to keep her safe in dreaming, and in my mind, even now, I slip and think of her that way. Like she’s forever stayed there, in that beat between nighttime and morning, when it feels like you only dozed off a minute but it’s really been hours.

The past was always present, in its way, and you can’t help but remember. Even if you can’t remember at all.

There were lots of ways to love someone, I guessed, both by remembering and forgetting.