I Prayed for a Miracle—Now I Lock My Door at Night

“No.”

My throat tightened.

I opened the door slowly.

Tyler was sitting on the floor, back against his bed, knees pulled up, his face buried in his hands.

The room smelled stale, like sweat and old sheets.

On his bed was an old photo album—one I hadn’t seen in months.

He looked up at me with eyes red-rimmed and wet.

“I don’t remember,” he choked out.

I froze.continue reading …