The Cross Family
“Then Damon’s an idiot. Reading is the cheapest form of therapy.”
They split up, each wandering an aisle. Mya found herself in the romance section—rows of pastel covers with soft titles. Her hand brushed one spine, then another, until she stopped on a novel about a woman who rebuilt her life after betrayal. The blurb made her chest ache. She added it to her armful without thinking.
When she found Trina again, her friend was crouched near the bottom shelf, flipping through a poetry book. “You ever notice how love poems are just heartbreak written before it happens?” Trina said absently.