Like being seen by him meant something.
Like it mattered more than it should.
• • •
And for as long as I can remember — my favorite color has been blue.
CHAPTER TWO
NINE YEARS OLD
• • •
My parents, Claire and Daniel Hayes, were high school sweethearts.
Their love for each other — and for me — showed in everything. Every word, every look, every small thoughtless gesture that people who love each other do without knowing they’re doing it.
They struggled to get pregnant for years before they had me.
I was their miracle.
And they treated me like one.
I was cherished.
Our house sat at the end of the cul-de-sac — four bedrooms, a movie room, a pool out back. Red brick, clean lines. The kind of place that felt permanent. Like it had always been there and always would be.
My mom’s garden was her pride and joy.
Her third love, after me and dad.
Daisies of every color stretched across the backyard, weaving behind the pool in messy, beautiful rows.
A clean mess.
Full of life.
The definition of us.
• • •
Cassian would pick one sometimes.
A blue one.
I think he always knew it was my favorite color.
But I wonder if he knew why.
• • •
As a stay-at-home mom she was always doing something — cooking, cleaning, tending to the garden — but she never felt busy.
She felt present.
My dad made sure of that.
Every spare second, he was with us.
