Sara was constantly surrounded by people she rolled her eyes at—girls who pretended to be stupid and boys who breathed through their mouths and let out deep huh’s for laughter. When she walked through the hallway, sneaking glances…

Eighteen years and a kitchen island stand between me and Anton. Eighteen years, a kitchen island, three mixing bowls, and a whisk. If he wasn’t here, in this kitchen, in this home (our home)…