**Callan"You don't have to come, Dad," I said, glaring over my shoulder. My father was huffing about taking Grandma back to the nursing home. It wasn't that he didn't think she belonged there; we both knew with the way her mind was fading that she was better off under the care of professionals. Instead, he just didn't want to go to a place where death happened pretty much every day. My mother's unexpected passing had really done a number on him. "That's right, dear," Grandma scowled. "You don't have to come with. Of course, if you refuse to see me anywhere that reminds you of death then I guess you'll never be seeing me again."For as often as she was confused, Grandma was pretty sharp, too. "Ma..." Dad groaned. There was nothing like a sarcastic, guilt-trip-fueled comment from mother to son to make a grown man revert to childlike tendencies. If only he could grasp the importance and the memories of those little moments, he might be less upset. He mig

**CallanI couldn't remember the last time I brought a girl to my place. Honestly, it had to be close to five or ten years ago when I was at the peak of my early twenties and didn't have a care in the world. Now I had a few really important cares. I'd picked up Isa from her house and driven her across the city to my place. We drove by the Space Needle, which was lit up brightly against the backdrop of the night sky. Here in the city, though, it was too bright to see the stars. I had been nervous to bring Isa over, even though it was my idea, and it was something that I had been wanting to do for a long time. I made sure to text Mary, my housekeeper, that I was having a guest so it would be clean. But really, it probably would have looked similar. I spent most of my time at the office, after all. When I came home, I would maybe go for a swim or lounge in the living room, but other than that, I didn't see most of my house. "Do you want a tour?" I asked

**CallanAt least she's at work, I thought, when Isa walked through the office doors on Monday morning. I went in extra early and hung around in the coffee shop, waiting for her to come through. She was dressed normally, but her hair and makeup weren't her usual style. She wore her hair down and pinned back loosely, and her makeup was muted, no lipstick and no eyeshadow. I wasn't even sure she was wearing any. I watched her walk to the elevator and stand there alone, waiting for the doors to open. Now's my chance, I thought. I got up from the chair I'd been sitting in and walked casually over to her. As I approached, I could sense her stiffen, but she didn't look at me. I wasn't even sure what to say—where to start. Well, actually, to start I was rather upset with her for walking out on me like that, but I couldn't come at her angry. Nor did I want to. "I made some calls. We won't be seeing any of those pictures she took," I muttered. No express

**IsaMy eyes hurt, my face hurt, my lungs hurt, my stomach hurt.Everything hurt. I had been feeling the stress of my situation with Callan, but it really hit me when Catherine visited that night and took our picture. I felt doomed, trapped, hopeless, beat. Everything that I wanted seemed to be just out of reach. I knew that Callan didn't understand where I was coming from regarding my wish to keep up my image and his image. I didn't want to taint him with my unpolished past, and I didn't want to burn myself in the future by ruining my reputation as a hard worker who did things on her own.But at the same time, I was so close to duct taping my own mouth shut and giving in to Callan's wishes. He said it would be easier, that things wouldn't turn out like how I imagined they would. But I was too afraid to give him, to give us, the chance. And now I was really feeling the stress. "Are you okay?" Myalin asked, peeking into my office. I wa

**IsaI hadn't been this nervous in a long time. My hands were sore from me trying to wring them of my anxieties. My chest was so tight, I wasn't even sure if I was breathing unless I made the audible sound. And my stomach ached and pinged with reminders that I was supposed to be laying off of stressful endeavors. But this seemed unavoidable. And frankly, I was curious. This man who my mother and I had managed to escape over ten years ago was there on the other side of a dingy diner window waiting for me to meet him. The man who'd caused me and my mother so much trauma, he was here. I hadn't seen a picture of my dad, let alone seen his face in person, since my mom and I got away, but I recognized him in an instant. He was a little rougher around the edges, dressed in a ratty bomber-style jacket with patches and with oily ringlets of hair hanging over his forehead. I took a deep breath and entered the diner. It was small with worn leather barstools and booth