LAYLA’S POV
One of the few things I learned about my mum from my dad is that whenever she was upset, she used to cut up pieces of paper and arrange them into puzzles. Just to have something for her hands to do while her head caught up with her heart.
I picked it up somewhere along the way without meaning to.
Except right now, it’s not helping.
I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed surrounded by small squares of paper that aren’t turning into anything, because I’m too angry to be precise and too hurt to concentrate and both of those things are fighting each other and winning against me simultaneously.
And worse than that, I know exactly why it hurts.
It isn’t even that they didn’t tell me.
It’s the fact that I actually believed I was part of them. That somewhere in the past few weeks of
