LILLIANA
Sixteen days. Three hundred and eighty-four hours and counting.
Back in the day, I mistakenly picked up a soppy, romantic novel, just for the sake of killing time, and I read how the female protagonist was counting the hours of separation from her beloved man. It seemed utterly pathetic and counterproductive to me.
Now, the joke was on me.
The small break I got between waiting tables and doing inventory for the cafe, I was mentally counting the days and hours without even realizing the futility.
I should have been planning and scheming, finding a way to slither back into Dominic’s life to wreck the happiness his family was enjoying at the cost of so many lives they had destroyed—but I did none of that.
A feeling of helplessness and guilt gnawed at the back of my head, chu
