The Last Thing He Told Me (Hannah Hall, #1)

by Laura Dave

I recognize in her that thing that happens when you lose your mother.

Bailey’s by tragedy, but it leaves a similar imprint on you either way. It leaves you in the same strange place, trying to figure out how to navigate the world without the most important person watching.

This is the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn’t with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again.

It’s more like finding your way home—where home is a place you secretly hoped for, a place you imagined, but where you’d never before been. Home. When you weren’t sure you’d ever get to have one. That’s what he was to me. That’s who he was.

This is the thing about good and evil. They aren’t so far apart—and they often start from the same valiant place of wanting something to be different.

When the world gets quiet again, it will take everything I am not to allow the grief of his loss to level me.