Mag-log in49.
“Carla?”
It was her. In my house.
For almost a year Carla Jennings, the woman who used to be desperately in love with Noah had been away from south bend. From what I heard, she was so heartbroken by Noah’s marriage
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I took in the sight of Noah’s warm and welcoming apartment. The walls were painted cream and there was a couch of the same color, only a one or two shades darker. A brown table stood in front of it, three books piled neatly on it. I was not much of a reader but admired those who loved







