Not Too Late Book Novels & Stories

Just be assured: This book isn't abandoned and will continue in early 2026! Thank you so much for your trust and your patience. Take care and have the best of holidays! Shelagh

"I'm Gwendolyn Falsimmo, and my gift is a pair of pearls. Happy birthday, Mr. Norwood." "I'm Sinistra Clancy, from Silverton's Ivy Commerce. My gift is a McLaren. Happy birthday, Mr. Norwood." "I'm Mirabel Constance, and my gift is an ancient recipe. Happy birthday, Mr. Norwood." … The gifts quickly turned into a sizable pile.

All the blood-stained memories of Manhattan drifted away with the cool evening breeze, left forever in the ruins of a life I would never return to. THE END

All I wanted was to relax before starting my new life. I went on a short trip with my friend, and when I came back a few days later, I realized my email inbox was nearly full. When I opened it, I found that every message was from Samantha. Since I had blocked her everywhere else, she had apparently been forced to use an old email account she had not touched in years. I clicked on one at random and saw a document attached. It was a long apology letter from Samantha. The writing was childish and almost laughable, full of shallow regrets and empty promises that did nothing to move me.

I didn't feel it. All I could think about was Maya. Where was she? Had anyone decent given her a coat? She missed her meds. If the nerve pain hit, how bad would it get? Five long minutes later, the thick stack—over thirty pages—finally finished printing. I reached for the stack, but Winnie slapped her hand over it. "What's the rush? I haven't organized it yet." She lifted the papers and tapped them on the desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. Slow. Deliberate.

Behind me, Elena’s low, saintly sigh drifted through the hall: “Mom, Dad, don’t be mad. Sis just… hasn’t fully accepted she’s an Elio yet.” I gently closed the door, shutting the saint’s lamentation out. Back in my room, I started ‘decluttering.’ My belongings were pathetically sparse: A used MacBook I bought with saved cash, A few sweaters hand-knitted by my foster mother, An old key to the Palermo apartment—a property the family had long since ‘dealt with,’ but I’d forgotten to toss the key. I crammed everything into a 20-inch carry-on. My bank account held two years’ worth of my ‘good girl’ allowance and the salary I had saved—a six-figure sum, enough to survive in the desert until my pro

"Are you having your period again? You never take care of yourself. Let me get you some dark chocolate. "I treat you well, but you're always making me mad." His patronizing concern stung me. A pregnant woman would never get her period, and he'd know if he ever paid attention. It seemed that he'd never cared about me. While Connor was rummaging through the fridge, he left his phone behind. A notification from "Quinn the Menace" flashed across the screen. I calmly looked away and reached out to grab the glass of hot water on the nightstand.

Don't just skip this book again; add to library. Enjoy! Your loving author; Natasha Gwen

but would it be too late? To be Continued…

Book 3 in the series is being written so be on the look out August 1st Thanks again, Annie