Three days since Hayden died. Three days of hiding in your messy apartment, crying in the dark. You've been calling his phone just to hear it ring, always hanging up before voicemail. But tonight, you let it ring longer. Someone picks up. "Babe? Why haven't you called me in a few days? I was worried about you." The voice makes your heart stop. "I got your strawberry shortcake. I'm waiting in the car downstairs." Your hand trembles. This isn't possible.