Novel By Jojo Moyes Novels & Stories

POV: Maya Castellano Two things happened on the fifth day. The first was that she finished the novel. She’d been reading in pieces since the first night. An hour before sleep and twenty minutes over breakfast while Kofi answered emails across the table with the comfortable silence of two people who had stopped needing to fill space. The woman in the book did the brave thing on page 247 and then spent forty three more pages learning to live inside having done it. Maya read those forty three pages slowly.

I opened Josy's door and handed over the book to her , I don't know why but while reading it I felt all my problems move aside it was like I was moving back to how I was only with the fact that I was stuck at one place. Josy this is the book from yesterday it was about,Every mother's wish to have a healthy baby when born. A baby that was born without any complications but my life was not like that. At the age of eight Irene was diagnosed with leukaemia, chronic myelogenous leukemia . It was not that rare in children so she wondered why she had to face this .

Loyalty had been her only code, even when it cost her everything. Even when it cost her Natalie. Her baby girl had been eight when they took her away. Now she was twenty-two, somewhere out there in the world, maybe still angry, maybe not. Meekey had written every year. Birthdays. Christmas. The day she first walked. The day she lost her first tooth. All the moments she missed, she tried to stitch back together with ink on paper. But only one letter had ever come back. "I don’t know who you are anymore. Stop writing."

The soft late-afternoon light streamed through the window of the office Zion had specially set up for her on the second floor of the house. Maeve sat in front of her laptop, her fingers paused over the keyboard. It had been almost two years since she began writing in secret, during the early mornings when insomnia brought back the hardest memories. The book was born from pain. From those scars she had carried since her youth—abandonment, emotional abuse, violence disguised as love, and the slow, painful process of rebuilding herself beside Zion.

"Like, really writing. Not just staring at the screen and sighing dramatically." "I don't sigh dramatically." "You absolutely do. It's your thing." She pulled up a chair and sat beside me. "What's this one about?" I hesitated. I hadn't shown anyone my work yet—not the real work, the novel I'd been piecing together for months. It was about a girl who loses everything—her boyfriend, her best friend, her sense of herself—and has to figure out who she is in the wreckage. It was, I realized, not very subtle.

For the first time, Cathedra had someone who didn't cringe every time she opened her mouth to speak. So this is what having a friend feels like, huh? Cathedra thought to herself. One lunch break, while waiting for Diane underneath the tree, Cathedra was scribbling a draft of her first novel in her notebook. The novel contained the scenes she saw in the storybook, back in her kindergarten days. Since that day at kindergarten, she didn't tell anyone what she saw in the storybooks anymore. The thought of seeing things that other people couldn't still terrified her but she tried hard not to think about it by avoiding any book she can see other than school books and textbooks.

I grab the book off the shelf and drop to the floor, right there in the aisle. My fingers tremble as I flip to the end. I already know what happens, but I can’t stop myself. Luke Thorne, the immortal hockey star. The one man who ever loved like he meant it. And the heroine fails him. I stare at the final panel, my tears dripping onto the page. “She let him die,” I whisper. My throat closes. “She let him die alone.” I press the book to my chest and sob, rocking back and forth like a child.

He unwrapped it slowly, then placed it in her hands. A necklace. Simple, but beautiful. A tiny charm shaped like a flame hung from the center, made from some kind of glowing amber. The moment her fingers closed around it, she felt it—warmth. A pulse. Like it was alive. “It belonged to the last Fireborn,” he said. “She didn’t survive the war that came.” Evelynn looked at him sharply. “What war?” “The kind that hides in shadows,” Aiden said. “Not with armies or flags. With whispers. With blood. And with monsters.”

Thanks to all of you who read this book to the very end. Novel may not remember anything, but her heart knows she belongs to Alexei. Love is beautiful, and I hope each of you finds a love that fills your heart with happiness—a love your heart can recognize even when your mind cannot. Thank you all for your support. You can also check out my other book, I'm Your Brother's Wife, Dear Ace. Thank you! 😊

I hated how steadying it felt. I stepped back before I could think too hard about that. "Just — explain. You said you'd seen this before. What did you mean?" "There's a novel," he said. "About a wolf warrior who enrolls at an academy and starts shifting into a black wolf instead of the rare white wolf she was born with. No one can explain it. Not at first." My pulse spiked. "Who wrote it?" "Sophie Miller, I think." The name hit me like a blow to the chest. The world tilted, sound rushing out of my ears until all I could hear was my own heartbeat, deafening.