Dan.
We were 17, inseparable, and stupidly brave in the way only teenagers can be. Two kids from unstable families making plans like we owned the future.
“California,” he used to say, like it was a promise. “Sunrises, ocean, you and me. We’ll start over.”
I would roll my eyes and smile, anyway. “With what money?”
“I loved someone when I was 17.”
He’d grin. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Emily watched my face like she could see the past moving behind my eyes.
“You don’t have to answer,” she said quickly.
I swallowed. “No. It’s fine.”
So I told her the outline. The cleaned-up version.
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