“I’ve handled worse. I always do.”
John pulled up to my building.
“Then pack your things.
Saturday morning, we’ll leave early.”
He drove off, and I stood there in the yard. Mom peeked out the window and waved. I waved back and whispered to myself,
“Don’t mess this up.
This time, you’re going to be perfect.”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇