“Stress is like a revolving door. Just when you think you’ve escaped, another wave comes crashing in.”
I haven’t found that statement of my dad so agreeable until now.
For three days after the racking episode of “How to kill Morana Griffin through an invisible three-degree burn,” I was cooped up in my bed, basically surviving and regenerating the wilted strength the fire had left me with.
Much to my expectations, Neither Logan nor any sight of Violet knocked on my door for the last seventy-two hours to bother visiting and give me at least an apology bouquet that would make up for the s**t they’ve put me through.
Not that it would have earned them my forgiveness.
I didn’t think I’d ever feel something other than disappointment for the two of them anymore. The only resentment left in me
