It took Joshua three more years to leave for good, and in the interim, Allison acquired dozens more bruises, two sets of stitches, and a shoulder sling. And Sammy didn't know it, but baby Seth was the closest he was ever going to get to having a little brother. That wouldn't have bothered him much in and of itself; after all, he had LeeLee, which meant he did have Seth, and the little boy was a lot of fun when he wasn't being annoying. But every once in a while, he would spot his mother pull his frayed baby blanket out of her nightstand and bury her face in it. And that made him hate his father almost as much as the bruises.

He was conflicted, because part of him loved his father; he couldn't help it. When Joshua smiled, when he really, truly smiled, it was like a ray of sunshine parting stormy clouds. He loved music, and if the right song came on the radio, he would take Allison gently by the waist, draw her hand in his, and spin her around the room while they both laughed. Or on a clear day he would pull out his old baseball and mitt and show Sammy how to throw a perfect curve ball or knuckle ball and maybe even take him out for ice cream. Those nights he would stop by the Forks supermarket and pick up a bouquet of fresh flowers for Allison, and she would blush like a schoolgirl when he handed them to her. It was Joshua, not LeeLee or Harry or Billy, who showed him the glowworms that gave off a subtle, green light as they were curled into the moss at the base of a tree. And it was Joshua who bought him his first mountainbike and taught him how to ride it. Even LeeLee was jealous of that.

If only that man, the fun-loving, sweet, and warm one who ruffled Sammy's hair and kissed his wife on the cheek, the one Allison had fallen in love with and who loved her dearly back, was the only one who inhabited Joshua's body.

Sammy learned to stay away on the nights the other Joshua was home. Allison would have been even more terrified than she already was if she didn't know that she would invariably find her son wrapped around Leah Clearwater the next morning, either in the girl's bed or the treehouse nearby.

Emily continued to make frequent appearances as well, and thus Sam got to know her too. He never grew comfortable enough with her, nor she him, to climb into LeeLee's room when she was there. After he frightened her one night, causing her to scream bloody murder and raising the whole house, he learned not to bother opening the window if he saw two bodies lying in Leah's bed when he arrived late at night. But even if he tried not to wake them up, even if he just peeked in her window and then left without making a sound, she seemed to know when he needed her. Every single night that he crawled into the treehouse to sleep alone, he would wake with her pressed against him. Harry didn't bother trying to take back his sleeping bag; it resided permanently in the treehouse.

During daylight hours, though, Emily did learn to get somewhat used to him. She seemed to think it odd that Leah played with a boy so often. She was more at ease when Rachel and Rebecca Black came over, which did happen from time to time. Sammy tended to stumble across the group of girls while looking for Leah, and more than once interrupted frenetic, giggling whispers that cut off abruptly when he entered, only to be replaced with gales of girlish laughter on the part of the twins, and blushing on his LeeLee's pretty cheeks. He was perplexed.

But one winter break when they were eight and Emily was nine, the Black girls brought over their baby brother, their parents, and a recipe for double chocolate chunk cookies. Sarah Black taught them all how to make them, and Sam thought that when he grew up, he would eat only these cookies and nothing else. Ever. Seth agreed, eating four whole cookies by himself and covering himself in sticky chocolate. Little Jacob was more interested in smearing the warm, melted chocolate all over his sisters. He was fast and surprisingly agile, and his furious sisters couldn't catch him no matter how hard they tried. Thank goodness Leah was even faster. She was practiced at lugging squirming little brothers around and bodily wrangled him into the bathtub, where both he and Seth were effectively hosed down.

Leah was good at replicating Sarah's cookie recipe. Sammy wasn't dumb enough to say so, but they were even better than Grandma Uley's chocolate chip cookies, and when little Strawberry Girl brought them with her when she joined them for brunch one day, Grandma even said so herself. And LeeLee quickly understood that whenever he appeared in her doorway asking to make cookies, these were the ones he wanted and moreover, that he wasn't up for a breathless chase in the woods. On the days Sammy wanted cookies, what he really needed was a hug, and he wouldn't talk about whatever had happened at his house that sent him running to hers.

When she was nine, Leah became proficient at making the cookies. It was a thrilling and an awful year.

The thrilling thing, the absolute highlight, was his second kiss with LeeLee. They had both ignored their first kiss as if it had never happened, although both of them thought about more than either would ever admit. Leah thought that Sammy must have hated it since he fled immediately and neither mentioned it or ever tried anything like it ever again, which was a shame since after her initial surprise, she realized she really liked it. Sammy was terrified he had made a huge mistake and thought that if he ever tried it again he might lose her for good.

It was actually Becca Black who made him realize he was wrong. Overall, it was a pretty terrific day. Instead of sitting in the boring schoolhouse, staring out the window, and wishing he and Leah weren't trapped inside, they were on a field trip to the Museum of Flight in Seattle. All the third, fourth and fifth graders were there. He had entered the huge hangar and was immediately in awe. There were more planes than he had ever seen before, many suspended in mid air. And they weren't just commercial airliners. He saw fighter jets, helicopters, old fashioned propeller planes, sea planes, and gliders. There were more types of planes than he knew existed.

Then they were ushered into a brightly colored workroom and given the task of making balsa wood planes. The Black twins entertained themselves by ducking beneath the worktable one at a time and trying to trick the docent into thinking they were only one person. Between them they didn't finish one plane, let alone two. He took his time making his and was the last one to finish. He was being extra special careful, because he had once glued his fingers together, and he didn't want to do it again. By the time he was done, everyone else (minus Becca and Rach) was lining up to throw them. He watched Leah's fly farther than Austin Bruce's, which drove Austin crazy, and then his own flew past even hers. Sammy wouldn't even have noticed that he won if she hadn't cheered for him. He barely even noticed the results of the competition, although he did like the little gold medal they gave him for making the best plane. Because before they left, they were all going to get a turn on the hang gliding simulator. He could hardly wait.

When it finally came time to use the simulator, Sammy bounced up and down on the balls of his feet as he tried to be patient waiting for his turn, shifting from foot to foot. Leah was right in front of him and she was excited too, but not as much as he was. She giggled watching him squirm. But when, after an eternity, it was finally her turn, instead of letting the guide strap her in, she stepped aside and pushed him forward. "Can Sammy can have my turn and his too?"

The docent turned to their teacher, but she was busy keeping Austin from getting into a fight with the little third grader Paul Lahote, so the docent shrugged and let him have two turns.

It was awesome. The young man harnessed him up so he was hanging horizontally mid-air underneath a bright red hang glider, and the huge screen in front of him displayed a baby blue sky over a lush, green valley. Then the wind machine turned on, and he felt like he was flying. The machine tipped, tilted, and swayed, and the air passing over his skin made him feel like he was going a hundred miles an hour.

When his two turns were over and he was back on his feet, he turned to Leah. Her smile was even broader than his own. Then he realized she wouldn't get a chance to try out the machine, and his face fell. She knew without him saying a word, and her smile softened, causing the dimples to appear in her cheeks. "I like it when you're happy, Sammy. It makes me happy too."

He grabbed her hand and returned her smile, and her eyes sparkled. And then Becca, who had just recently discovered the joy of both knock-knock jokes and puns, called out, "You're standing under mistletoe!" They both looked up in confusion. Sammy figured out what Becca meant before Leah did. There was a fighter jet suspended directly above them with its weapons bay open and a missile hanging down.

Rachel groaned loudly and rolled her eyes. She was getting a little sick of her sister's new obsession with wordplay. "Oh, that's awful. That's the worst one yet. A missile getting towed? Really? That's not even what's going on up... Ow! Hey!" She rubbed her arm, stinging from Becca's slap.

Becca hissed, "Shut up!", pointedly looking at Sam. Upon realizing she had his attention, she flailed her hands toward him comically, pointed up at the jet, and then pointed at Leah. He just gawked at her, so she puckered her lips dramatically and gestured at Leah.

His best friend was still staring up at the jet and wondering what all the fuss was about. Then she shrugged and looked over at him. Maybe it was because of Becca's suggestion, maybe it was because of the little quirk of Leah's mouth as she smiled, maybe it was because he was feeling invincible that day. Whatever the reason, he leaned in before he could stop himself and pressed his lips to hers.

She was even softer than he remembered, and sweeter, and she tasted like bubblegum. His lips tingled in a way that they never did when he kissed his mommy, just like they did the first time he kissed her.

When he leaned back, she was smiling at him, and she looked prettier than he had ever seen her. And that was saying a lot, because she was his definition of pretty.

Snickering broke through his reverie. He glanced off to the side and found Austin making a face at them. "Eww! That's disgusting!"

Jared Cameron stuck out his tongue. "Gross. Now Sam's got cooties!"

Austin shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "No. It's way worse. He's got herpes now! He's gonna get, like, boils all over his face, and they're gonna explode, and if he's lucky, he'll die before he starts looking like a troll!"

Everyone around them gasped in shock. None of them had any idea what herpes was, but it sounded frightening and terrible. Sam would have been embarrassed, but Leah strode right up to Austin. "So I've got some awful disease, huh?"

He looked surprised at her boldness, but he straightened to his full height of four foot nine inches and glowered down at her. "Yeah, you do. I know about it because Mom said some skank gave it to my Dad when he was all up on her." Now it was the teachers' turn to look shocked, and they tried but failed to shush Austin.

Leah plowed ahead. "So how come I'm not covered in boils? Do I look like a troll to you?"

Austin's confrontational stance faltered for a moment, because he too thought Leah was the prettiest girl in school (which was why it drove him so crazy that Sam kissed her. Kissed her! Kids their age didn't even hold hands, let alone kiss each other! If he had known it was a possibility, then he would have done it himself!). But he recovered and sneered, "Yeah. You're an ugly troll."

She just nodded thoughtfully. "And I can turn boys into trolls too, right? I'm contagious?"

"Sam probably only has days to live. Maybe even hours," Austin insisted absurdly. He was in too far to back out now.

"Right then." And before he realized what she was doing, she took a long, messy lick of her palm and smeared her spit all over his cheek. "Now you're in for it too!"

She sniffed and tossed her long hair over her shoulder as she marched away from him. Austin would have given her a good pummeling, girl or not, crush or no crush, if the teacher's aide hadn't grabbed him back. Leah made a beeline for Sammy, but she was pulled aside by their own teacher before she could get there and given a little talking to. Sam couldn't hear what words were exchanged over the gasps and crowing of the crowd around them.

But whatever they said didn't matter, because soon they were on their way home. And not only did he get to sit by his LeeLee, he got to hold her hand, too.

X-x-x-x-X

If only that had been the end of it. But Austin didn't forgive or forget. Instead, he decided to punish Leah and Sam for his humiliation. Leah hardly cared; he was just a jealous bully who didn't mean anything to her. Sam, however, started taking flak not only from Austin, who really didn't matter, but all the boys who rallied around Austin. Before that time, Leah was always his best friend, but it didn't keep him from playing kickball or t-ball or soccer with whichever boys were running around outside at the time. Partly since Leah also played all those games, but still. But he didn't need her around to play with them, and he had a good time.

Until the kiss. Then he found himself being picked last (Last!) for schoolyard games. Him, Sam Uley! Tallest, fastest, and most coordinated boy in the tribal elementary school. Until the day he sat down at his usual lunch table, which normally fit Leah and the Black twins on one end and Austin, Johnny Blackfist, and Bobby Sterling on the other, and all three boys stood up and walked away. He tried to ignore their muttered insults as they left, but rejection churned in his gut.

Still, it wasn't as if he needed Austin, Johnny, or Bobby to get through his day. Not like he needed his LeeLee. It all probably would have blown over if it wasn't for his father.

Every morning that he stayed in his own bed instead of Leah's, his mother woke him up with a mug of hot chocolate on his nightstand and a kiss on the forehead. So one rainy Monday morning, when he woke up at eight sixteen to the muffled sound of sniffling instead of the scent of cocoa, he knew something was wrong. He silently crept out of his room and peeked down the hallway. A deep snort and snuffle radiated from the living room. His father was out there snoring instead of heading out the door to work. He turned in the other direction and peeked in the bathroom, its door cracked ajar.

His mother was seated on the closed toilet lid gingerly wrapping a swollen, red ankle with an ace wrap. She winced as she touched a tender spot, which started a fresh round of tears rolling down her cheeks.

It wasn't Allison's swollen, red eyes, the moisture pooling on her upper lip, her bottom lip clenched tightly under her upper teeth, or even the purple handprints visible on her exposed forearms that caused Sammy to see red. It was the frank despair etched all over her face as her eyes met his.

Sammy flew back down the hall, grabbing the only weapon he found on his way, a piece of driftwood that had been carved into the shape of a wolf which sat on the coffee table. Sammy didn't know it, but he was screaming. Fortunately or unfortunately, Joshua was still drunk enough that the shrieking sound wasn't enough to wake him. So he didn't have his hands up when Sammy landed on his chest. He only woke up to the pounding sensation of Sammy bringing the base of the wood down against his skull.

Sammy was strong for a nine year old, but Joshua was no weak old man, not even inebriated and half unconscious on a Monday morning. And the base was only lightly glued to the wolf. It snapped on impact, although it left a nice little gash in Joshua's skull before he grabbed it and threw it across the room, where it put a hole in the television.

Sammy was still screaming, his face red with rage. He tightened his hands into fists and began to artlessly pound them into his father's chest, arms, and face.

It didn't last long. With a single, angry swipe of his arm, Joshua backhanded Sam across the face and sent him flying into the coffee table. He slid off onto his back, stunning his right shoulder. His father's angry face appeared above him. He had seen this face in his nightmares, but it was always hovered over his mother, not over him. Not today.

"You fucking little ungrateful shit!" Spittle landed on his face, and the rank smell of old beer and stale cigarettes filled his nostrils. Blood was streaming down the side of Joshua's face. "I'm gonna fucking end you!"

And then Joshua's knee was in his gut, holding him down, and his father's large hands went around his neck. He was trapped with no way to get air. Sam grabbed in futility at his father's wrists, but he was immovable. He clawed at Joshua's face, but the big man just leaned back out of his reach. He felt his lungs burning, and spots started swarming before his eyes. He felt the drip of Joshua's warm blood land on his chin. But just before his vision faded, he heard a shrill screech, and his mother flew into his field of vision.

He heard a loud clang, and suddenly Joshua was gone. Sammy rolled over to the side and took in choking gasps. As soon as he had the strength, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees and turned back to his parents. Joshua was kneeling on top of Allison, who was failing to shield herself with a cast iron frying pan. The bigger man simply ripped it away and tossed it behind him, where it shattered the only family portait of the three of them that Allison had ever managed to get them to sit for.

Allison was in the exact same position Sammy had been in moments before. Joshua had her pinned firmly beneath him, and he was strangling the very life out of her. Sammy knew instantly that if he didn't do for his mother what she had done for him, it would all be over. The world would come apart at the seams. He grabbed for the frying pan, narrowly avoiding slicing his feet open on the broken glass on the floor. But his blow glanced off Joshua's shoulder with as much effect as a mosquito.

He sprinted for the his parents' bedroom and flung open the closet. There it was. His father's shotgun leaning against the wall. It practically came up to his shoulder. With shaking hands, he grabbed it and checked the barrel. Empty. He cussed for the first time in his life and reached up. He could barely reach the shelf above Joshua's shirts and pants, but he wasn't tall enough to reach the box of shells. He could see it, just inches away, taunting him, and heard his father's vile words from the living room. But he didn't hear his mother, and it terrified him. He finally raised the long gun and used it to knock down the box of shells, scattering them all over the floor. He grabbed two and loaded the unwieldy gun as he sprinted back down the hall. Joshua didn't see him coming. He approached from behind.

And then he held the barrel to the back of his father's head and flipped the safety switch. "Let her go." He tried for a yell but out came a bare whisper.

Joshua's froze, and then his hands released Allison's neck and slowly rose into the air. "Is that what I think it is, son?"

"Y-Yeah," Sammy's voice shook.

Joshua's voice was low and frighteningly calm. "Then you'd better be careful with it. Don't want any of that shot go to through me and into your mama, do you?"

Sammy glanced down at Allison. She was coughing and gasping, but she hadn't yet opened her eyes. "No."

"Then why don't you back up a few feet and we'll get that thing pointed away from her, huh?"

Sammy froze. He didn't know what to do. He wondered what his father's face looked like in that second. He couldn't imagine how someone could be so enraged one second and sound so calm the next. He didn't move, so Joshua repeated his words softly. Finally Sam straightened up, but kept the barrel of the gun trained on his father. He inched backward until he hit the wall.

"I'm going to stand up." It was a statement, not a question.

"Okay," Sammy whispered.

Slowly, carefully, Joshua stood and turned to face him. His eyes were shockingly sober and frighteningly blank. "What now?"

Allison coughed and gagged from her position on the floor as Sammy trembled in place, staring at his father. He had no answer.

"Sammy," Allison croaked. "Put it down, baby."

But he didn't. He couldn't move.

"Listen to your mama." Joshua's eyes flicked between the barrel of the gun and his son's terrified face.

Sammy couldn't stand to look at his parents any longer, so he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember to breathe. He heard the sound of scraping, and he tightened his finger on the trigger. But he didn't squeeze.

"Sammy?"

He blinked his tears away and found his mother at his side. She placed her hand on top of his and gently worked the gun out of his hands. He let her, and she opened the barrel and let the shells drop to the ground. He stared at them while she ran her fingers over his skin, checking his neck and his cheek, which were beginning to bruise.

Her voice was as sharp as a dagger, and almost as deadly. "Look what you did to him!" she hissed at Joshua.

"I'm... I..." Joshua sounded flat, and as Allison moved away from him, Sammy couldn't bear to watch either of his parents any longer. He drooped against the wall and stared at his feet. "I can't believe... I can't believe I did that. Oh god, I..." Then Joshua began to repeat himself over and over. He sounded like he was waking up, his voice sounding sharper and more distinct with each repetition. "I'm so sorry." And then it sounded like a plea. He sounded sincere, but didn't he always? Sammy tried to hold on to his anger, but he didn't have anything left. No fear, no sorrow, no hate, and no love.

Then Joshua sounded muffled. Sammy glanced up from his toes and saw his father on his knees, face buried in his mother's stomach, weeping. But Allison pushed against his shoulders and bent down to whisper in his ear. Sammy wasn't meant to hear it, he was certain, but it was a small room, and he wasn't very far away. "I can forgive you for hurting me, but our son? Never."

And then the greatest lie, because Joshua believed it to be true. "I don't... But I... I love you. I love you so much. I'm so sorry. I... What have I done?"

Words were useless now, and Joshua's were meaningless. They might as well have been random syllables strung together. She pried his arms off her and took Sammy by the hand, limping back into the bathroom, where she shut and locked the door. Systematically she examined his injuries, breathing a sobbing gasp, either of relief when she realized that no permanent physical damage was done, or despair that anything had happened at all, he wasn't sure. He didn't even need to see a doctor.

The same could not be said for her. "We need to go to the hospital," Sammy insisted.

"It's okay, baby. You're gonna be alright. He's never coming near you again," she promised. He had no idea why she thought this was the case, or how she planned to ensure his safety.

"Not for me, for you!" He gestured at her body, bruised from head to toe.

She shook her head. "I'll be fine. I'll be fine."

"You can barely walk!" he pointed out. He didn't know much, but he was certain that the small beige wrap she put on her ankle was little better support than her socks, and her voice was hoarse from being strangled. "You need a doctor!"

"Doctors cost money," she sighed. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. "And we need to save our money if we're ever..." She shut her eyes firmly against the tears brimming behind her lids. He had never really thought about it before, but his father rationed out cash like it was water in the desert. Once a week, Joshua handed Allison a small pile of bills, and no matter what, that was all she got. It didn't matter if holes formed in her shoes, if Sammy had outgrown his pants to the point that his hem ended at mid calf, it didn't matter if her car ran out of gas three days before. She got as much as Joshua felt like sparing her, and it was never enough.

"Then let's go to Sue's, she'll help you out. She's a nurse," he insisted.

Her eyes blazed. "I have a little bit of pride, don't I? I'm not going begging for help that I can't afford." Her brief-lived fire left as quickly as it had come. "Anyway, it's just a sprain. It's not broken. Nothing's broken. It'll all heal. I always do, don't I?"

Sammy was terrified that the next time, she wouldn't. Or that he wouldn't. But he didn't know how to say it, or what good it could possibly do.

After too long, but not long enough, they exited the bathroom. The house was empty.

"Where'd he go?"

His mother sighed, looking at the blood on the couch and the floor. "He needed stitches. I think he went to the hospital."

Sammy didn't bother asking why they could afford stitches for Joshua, but not treatment for her.

He didn't want to go to school that day, and Allison wasn't about to make him. At the end of the day he couldn't remember a single thing he had done since the altercation that morning. The only thing he remembered was that at four thirty seven, a knock sounded at the front door. He jumped, but didn't know why. Joshua wouldn't knock on his own front door.

The concerned, soft voice of his best friend was a balm. "Is Sammy here?"

"How nice of you! Go on in, sweetheart. He's in his room. But you can't stay long today, okay?"

Leah agreed. She knew when not to push. But then she was there in front of him, holding out a tin. He smiled despite himself, but he couldn't raise his eyes to look her in the face. He stared at the tin. He knew what he wanted to be inside.

"I brought you something," she said. "I missed you today."

"I missed you too." His voice sounded much more like that of a frog's than he would have liked.

She shook the tin. "Come on, open it!"

He took it from her, popped it open, and inhaled deeply. "Thanks, LeeLee."

"You're welcome." She sat down next to him on his bed and reached for one of the cookies, taking a bite. "Do you wanna talk, or do you wanna eat?"

He reached for it, but then winced as his throbbing shoulder protested. Her eyes widened in concern, but he resolutely shoved a still-warm double chocolate chunk cookie into his mouth. "Eat," he muttered around the delicious treat, and then he finally looked at her. She smiled softly at him, and there was chocolate smeared on her bottom lip, crumbs on her chin, and flour in her hair. He couldn't help but grin at the sight of her looking so messy despite the neatly pressed skirt and button down shirt she wore, which had somehow escaped the onslaught of baking.

"Sorry they're so funny looking." He peered into the tin. Not one of the cookies was shaped like a circle. She had placed them too close together, and they had melded together into blobs.

He couldn't have cared less. "They taste really, really good."

She beamed at his assessment, and then she ate another cookie. But when the sun peeked out from behind the clouds and sent its rays to illuminate his skin, her jaw dropped open. "You got hurt!"

He shuttered himself against her concern. He couldn't handle her anxiety over him. He could barely handle himself. "It's fine."

"It's not fine, it looks like it hurts! What happened?" She reached out to touch his bruised cheek, but he flinched away.

He couldn't bring himself to tell her. He didn't want to tell her. He didn't want to make it more real than it already was by giving it voice. He just wanted to forget about it, or better yet, will it out of existence.

"Nothing," he repeated coldly.

She took the hint and dropped her hand. "Okay," she nodded. But it was too late. Her eyes were filled with worry for him. He could hardly stand it. He didn't want her to think he was anything other than strong. But then again, if he was strong, really and truly strong, he would have protected his mother better. He was a fool. A weak one, at that. What he wouldn't give to be strong enough to fight off his father with his bare hands.

Allison cleared her throat from the hallway. "Thanks for bringing those over, sweetheart. It was very nice of you. But I think you'd better get on home now."

He ventured a surreptitious glance at Leah. She didn't want to go; it was written all over her face. But she obeyed. "Will I see you in school tomorrow?"

His mother answered for him as she ushered Leah out of the house. "Of course. Say hello to your mom and dad for us, okay?" And then she was gone.

That night, he wanted nothing more than to crawl in her window and into her bed. But he kept hearing his mother's footsteps moving slowly down the hall, pausing in front of his door, and then moving on. He didn't know if she wanted to talk to him or if she just wanted to know if he was there. Twice, at least, she opened the door a crack before sighing and walking away. So he stayed, although he hardly slept at all.

Around two in the morning, he was on the verge of finally falling asleep when he heard the front door open and close. His parents' muffled voices weren't clear enough for him to understand exactly what they were saying, but the sound of crying was unmistakable. It was coming from Joshua, but his mother sounded cold as ice. It frightened him nearly as much as the violence had. He buried his head under his pillow in an attempt to drown out the noise, but he couldn't erase the sound from his memory.

The next morning he was exhausted on every possible level. He trudged slowly into school and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. But Leah, whose desk was right in front of his, turned around as soon as he entered. There was no way to avoid looking at her; she was too close.

She was beaming since she was thrilled to see him. She looked at him as if his very presence gave her joy, because it did. This comforted him a little bit, because it was how he felt about her as well. She said she was so happy to see him there, and then she launched into a story about Seth trying to stuff four marshmallows in his mouth at once the night before. But looking at his LeeLee's smiling face, he wished he could return to the world she lived in, the bright and shining place where wonders lay around every corner and love was pure and good. But the world wasn't the warm, loving place Leah thought it was. It never had been, and it never would be. Joshua himself had declared his love for Allison just hours ago. Was that was love was? Her naiveté made anger coil in his gut. How could she laugh like nothing had happened? How could she expect him to smile back? She saw the furrow of his brow and the hard set of his jaw, and her smile faltered.

Why should he love her when loving only brought anybody pain?

X-x-x-x-X

A/N: Thanks again to my beta, Babs81410.