Owen used to like to tease me about how I lose everything, about how, in my own way, I have raised losing things to an art form. Sunglasses, keys, mittens, baseball hats, stamps, cameras, cell phones, Coke bottles, pens, shoelaces. Socks. Lightbulbs. Ice trays. He isn’t exactly wrong. I did used to have a tendency to misplace things. To get distracted. To forget.
Thank you to my wonderful readers. I am so grateful to you all for joining me on Hannah Hall’s journey—which I started working on all the way back in 2012. Eighteen drafts later, you have the book that is now on your shelves. (Can I mention again how grateful I am that it is?)
When I’m working on a book, I always start with a question I want to explore. For The Last Thing He Told Me, my question was: Can we ever truly know the people we love the most? From the moment Hannah receives Owen’s note (Protect Her), she is trying to answer this question. One of the great joys of bringing this book into the world has been hearing the many ways people answer this question for themselves.
