I unwrap the chocolate box and reach straight for the star-shaped one. It's always the first I eat—and somehow, the one that always makes my chest tighten.
There's something about this particular brand that pulls at my heart every time. Maybe it's the memories.
Dad used to wait in line for hours just to get a pack for each of us—me, Annika, and Asher. Sometimes he'd come home long after dark, exhausted but smiling, holding those boxes like they were treasure.
I always finished mine fast. Then I'd eye Asher's. He'd laugh and slide the box over, always saving five or ten pieces for me. He used to love them, until one day, he didn't. Said they made him feel sick.
I didn't question it. I just got used to having two boxes instead of one.
Funny how even the sweetest things can hurt.
"I know that very much, and I'm glad no one can." His gaze drops to my mouth, and his arms tense.
