Workout this morning to burn off nervous energy and help keep my mind alert? Check. Showered, makeup and hair done here at the gym? Check, check, and check. I glanced at my phone screen, seeing it was 7:03 a.m. Three minutes past my target time but still plenty of time to get to the precinct, change, and be in the conference room well before eight-nothing left to chance. “I’m Dillon.” The handsome guy extended his hand as the elevator began its slow descent from the fifty-fifth floor to the ground level. His unwavering eye contact and firm handshake brimmed with the confidence normally reserved for someone beyond his midtwenties age. “Cool name.” My name meant descended from a ruler. My parents, at the time of my birth at least, viewed me as their little princess, a miracle after a battle with infertility. From that moment on, their entire life shaped around me like the careful organization of the planets in our solar system, their baby the center of gravity pulling each decision they made. My mom packed lunches with little drawings, and Dad dedicated every Saturday to Fallon’schoice day, where I got to pick what we did. If I had to assign a word to those earlier years, it would be bliss, when I felt completely safe and love penetrated every cell of my body. That was before it all got sucked into a black hole, and any semblance of life and of the parents who once loved me more than anything was destroyed.
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