And there it was. The truth in a tiny, impenetrable nutshell, a secret buried so deep inside my heart that I’d thought it would be safe there forever. I didn’t love Brett Marcowitz, and I didn’t love his family. I didn’t love my parents. I’d never loved any of my old college roommates, and the friends I had now were more like work acquaintances than kindred spirits. Since the day my sister Emily died, her life snuffed short by a hole in her heart that no number of surgeries could fix, I hadn’t loved anyone who didn’t exist between the covers of a book. At this point, I wasn’t even sure I knew
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