“Can’t be what?” I asked.
He looked up at me, his face drained of all color. “It’s from… Vivian.”
The name hit me hard.
Vivian—the girl who broke his heart back in high school. His first love. The one who left him for someone with money and a future that didn’t involve a beat-up car and community college dreams.
Logan had only mentioned her once, briefly, like an old wound that never fully healed.
I remembered laughing it off, saying something careless like, “Well, her loss.”
He hadn’t laughed with me.
That night, when he opened the box, his hands shook so badly I thought he might drop it.
Inside was a photograph of a woman standing beside a teenage boy. He looked around fifteen, dark hair falling into his eyes, wearing a shy, uncertain smile that stirred something deep in my chest.
Logan’s breath caught, and the color drained from his face.
