THORNE

Blakely was nowhere to be found. It was almost lunch, and she wasn’t stepping outside of her studio. She’d been there almost all day. Maybe that would be better for her. She entertained herself with the things she loved to do. And I would love to give her that.

I prefer her doing her art rather than crying and forcing herself to remember.

I believe she would live without it. I felt a slight pinch in the heart thinking that our memories were included in those memories that she had forgotten. But if it would give her peace and quiet and would let her escape all the trauma that...