دانلود کتاب our fault

cacophony of sounds, overwhelming and loud. People rushed around, pulling suitcases, pushing carts, and managing children in a hurry. I glanced up at the overhead monitor, searching for my destination and the exact departure time. Traveling alone wasn’t something I enjoyed—I’ve never been fond of flying—but I didn’t have many choices. It was just me now, completely on my own.

I checked my watch and then looked back at the screen. There was still time before my flight. Maybe a coffee in the terminal and some reading would help settle my nerves. Passing through the metal detectors, I felt a familiar dislike. I hated being patted down, yet it seemed inevitable since something always triggered the alarm. Perhaps it was that proverbial iron heart I’d been told I carried within.

and removed my watch, bracelets, and the pendant necklace I couldn’t seem to part with, even though I probably should have. I placed these alongside my cell.
The individual instructed me to step aside, stretch out my arms, and spread my legs. I complied with a sigh, puzzling over whether I had something metallic, a sharp object, or perhaps something else triggering this.

“I don’t have anything on me,” I remarked as the officer began the pat-down. “This always happens. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s a filling.”

The officer’s grin only intensified my wish for him to finish quickly.

Once he finally released me, I gathered my belongings and headed straight to the duty-free shop. Giant Toblerones? Absolutely! That was the one enjoyable aspect of airport visits. After purchasing two bars, I stored them in my carry-on and set out to locate my departure gate. LAX was sprawling, but thankfully my gate wasn’t far.

As I walked across arrows designed to guide me in the right direction, I passed by signs bidding farewell in countless languages until I arrived at my destination. The gate stood empty, so I took a seat by the window, pulled out my book, and began to enjoy my Toblerone. Everything was going smoothly until a letter, tucked between the pages, slipped into my lap, stirring memories I thought were long forgotten. A hollow sensation formed in my stomach as a wave of images flooded my mind, transforming what had been a calm day into a troubling one.

Nine months earlier, news of Nicholas’s departure reached me through unexpected sources. It was evident that no one wanted to discuss him with me, and it seemed he had firmly instructed everyone to remain silent. Even Jenna, who I knew had met him more than once, kept quiet about it all.

Saying goodbye was difficult, yet I had no choice. That stretch of my life was filled with incessant tears, a period I now refer to as my dark ages. It truly felt like being trapped in a pitch-black tunnel, completely engulfed in shadows, unable to feel any warmth or light—even with a lamp by my bed. Panic attacks plagued me almost daily until I finally sought help from a doctor, who promptly referred me to a psychiatrist. Initially, I had little interest in therapy, but it eventually began to help. I found myself able to get up in the mornings and perform the basic tasks of daily life—until that fateful night.