Page 62 of My Totally Unfair Deal

Not a good sign—and it stirs something I’ve been trying to bury.

I doubt this will end the same way as before, but I can’t risk sleeping on it.

I call Henry.

“I need you to help me find Eliza.”

“I’ll meet you in the garage, sir.”

THIRTY (B)

ELIZA

Iignore the strange wetness sliding down my cheeks, telling myself it’s just the mist from the tree leaves above me.

But I know better.

No matter how many years pass, this day never hurts any less. I always swear it’ll be different—that I’ll handle it better, feel less—but it always ends the same.

The cold sweat when I wake up. The memories waiting for me like landmines in every direction. The way my heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

There’s no escaping it.

Not on Mother’s Day.

I have to find a quiet place where no one’s celebrating, where no one’s smiling or posting pastel-filtered photos with hashtags.

Sometimes I hide out for days, skipping stores until I know the shelves have moved on to pushing Father’s Day and Fourth of July sales.

Leaning back on the park bench, I shut my eyes and hope the memories will finally give me an hour of peace. Just one.

But the ache doesn’t fade.

Instead, I feel fingers threading gently through my hair.

My eyes flutter open.

Harrison is sitting next to me, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding.

“I was just about to call you,” I say, though my voice cracks. “I’m totally fine. I was just enjoying the view, see?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just wraps his arms around my shoulders, and I sink into his chest. The tears fall faster, heavier now that I’m not pretending.

He exhales slowly, then pulls me into his lap.

“Yesterday was my younger brother’s birthday,” he says quietly. “He was so smart, he skipped grades. Went to college a year before I did. He’s still the smartest person I’ve ever known.”

“You still talk to him?” I ask, my voice small.

“Not unless I go to the cemetery…” He meets my eyes. “He killed himself.”

My breath catches. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s my fault he jumped,” he says flatly. “He begged me to come see him—he said he was breaking down—and I didn’t rush home like I should have.”

“You can’t really believe that…”

“I could’ve gotten him help,” he says. “I saw the signs. We all did. And none of us did anything.”

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