My arms wrapped around myself, I stared at the house across from ours.
Vaguely, I remember my childhood with Henry. He would always invite me to his home and his parents would always welcome me with open arms. I remember the sweets he loved to eat and would always share with me. I remember the way he listened to everything I would tell him, supporting all my dreams before anyone else. And I remember when he had to move away to follow his own dreams.
And now, this… it shouldn't mean what I think it means.
I was being paranoid.
That’s all.
Henry wasn’t even in the country when my father passed. He was probably just guessing, right? He knew my father hated werewolves… so he just assumed, right?
My father has been known to dislike werewolves.
Right?
That’s all it is?
The timing
