Amelia’s POV

The numbness cracks at eleven-forty-seven PM on a Tuesday.

I’m sitting on my futon, staring at nothing, when I notice the mug on my makeshift nightstand. Navy blue ceramic with a gold rim. Daniel bought it for me on our first anniversary because I’d mentioned liking the one at a café we’d passed. Such a small thing. So thoughtless to anyone else.

But he’d remembered.

My hands start shaking. Then my whole body.

The grief I’ve been carefully compartmentalizing, ...