AMY POV

Happiness, I had come to learn, was not a single feeling. It was a thousand small ones stacked on top of each other until they became too heavy to carry quietly, until they spilled out of you in the form of humming while you brushed your hair, or smiling at strangers for no reason, or crying in the produce aisle because a song came on the radio that reminded you of someone who finally loved you the way you'd always hoped someone would.

I cried in a lot of produce aisles those days. I'd given up being embarrassed about it months ago.

"You're doing it again," Ravenna said,...