Lyla

“I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there.”

I smiled softly at the strain in Melanie’s voice. “It’s okay, seriously. Don’t worry about it.”

There was an answering sigh on the other end of the line, one that I knew very well was accompanied by Melanie’s infamous frown that creased the spot between her brows. Early this morning, she’d gotten a call from immigration about a request for additional ...