Back when I was young and hopped up on Disney fairytales, I had asked my dad if soulmates existed, and how I was supposed to know when I found mine.

He looked me in the eye and said, “Well I don’t know if there are soulmates, but there sure as hell is your someone. It’s easy to know once you’ve found them, though. Do you know why?”

I shook my head, thirsty for more. I wanted the Beast to my Beauty, and I was going to get him.

“Because with a single look, they can make you see the best parts of who you are. The purest version of yourself will be reflected in them. And when they walk away . . .” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose as he gave a soft shake of his head. “When they walk away, they’ll take a piece of you with them. Do you see, pumpkin? When you’re with your someone, you can’t help but feel it deep within your bones.”

Try as I might, I never could figure out what he was talking about. Sometimes when I was with Bobby, I’d think back to Dad’s words and wonder if maybe that’s what I was experiencing. When Bobby’s touch gave me butterflies, or when I’d feel let down after having to cancel plans with him. But that ache I expected to hit me when I broke things off with him never came. Then I began to think maybe it never would. Maybe what Dad and Mom had was so rare, no matter how hard we looked, it only ever happened to a few of us.

Now, as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I see clearly what Dad was talking about. When Death—Enzo walked away from me today, I felt it. I heard the snap of my heart tearing in half. It wasn’t a messy, dirty rip like I’d expected, but a smooth, clean line that knew just where to break to hurt me the most. The cracks spread through my heart, a piece crumbling in his wake.

This is what it feels like to have your heart break for someone. And I finally understand why Dad was never able to fix his without Mom. Because how do you make something whole again, when you’re missing half of the pieces?

I’ve got one hand against my chest, eyes closed as I lay beneath the blankets and concentrate. My stomach is tight with anticipation, my nerves electric livewires, ready to go off without warning at any moment. I think I might be about to break my twenty second record of no heartbeat.

Fifteen seconds. Deep breath. Sixteen. Don’t flinch. Seventeen. Come on, heart. Eighteen. Please. Nineteen.

A sharp rap on the door whips my eyes open, and I release a loud exhale as I lose focus. When I decide to ignore it and return my attention to my faulty heart, the knocks come faster.

“Lou? Are you in there?”

Claire. I grumble and roll off the bed, padding toward the door.

Her eyes are puffed up and shiny. For the first time since I’ve met her, her hair is not perfectly styled. Instead, it sits in a messy pile on top of her head, and her outfit’s not even color-coordinated today. I frown, wondering if Dylan has anything to do with this, and open the door wider to step aside.

“Hey,” I say softly, locking up behind her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine.” She plops down at the foot of my bed, her hands fidgeting as she glances back at the rumpled blankets. “Oh. Sorry, did I wake you?”

I shake my head as I make my way to the bed, sitting beside her. “No, I couldn’t sleep much last night. Been up for a while.”

She nods, looks down, bites her lip.

“Claire?”

“No. No, I’m not okay.” Tears are sliding down her cheeks when she looks back up at me. She shakes her head, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “I’m so stupid. So, so stupid.”

I don’t need to ask what she’s talking about because I already know, so I just wrap my arms around her and pull her in tight. “Trust me. You’re not the stupid one, Claire.”

“I—I should have known, right? I mean, what kind of boyfriend cancels on you three times in one week?”

“The stupid kind.”

“And what kind of girlfriend doesn’t see right through it?”

“The trusting kind. The loving kind. The good kind.”

She only shakes against me, squeezing tighter. “I don’t know, Lou. Sometimes I wonder if I need to toughen up, stop being so naïve. Maybe then I wouldn’t find myself in messes like this one.”

“What?” I pull back, keeping my hands firmly on her shoulders as I look into her eyes. “Because you chose to trust in something, that means you’re not tough?”

She gestures at herself, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “I think that’s pretty obvious right about now, don’t you?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think that’s obvious at all. You want to know the truth?” She says nothing, gaze latched on mine. “Sometimes I think people like you are the strongest of us all. The kind of person who can find beauty in anything. Who chooses to believe in love before hate. Who doesn’t just hope for happy endings, but has what it takes to create the happy ending. It’s so easy to be angry, to hate, to see the worst in a situation. But to actively choose to see the best? That’s where all the courage is.”

As I say the words, the truth they hold rings back at me with total clarity, my mind eager to grasp onto any straws of hope it can find. I find myself looking at Claire in a new light as I think back to my situation with Enzo. Maybe I can stand to learn a few things from her.

She’s quiet for a long moment, so long in fact that I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing. But then her lips start to quiver, and she yanks me toward her in the tightest hug I’ve ever received in my life. My eyes go wide, but I pull myself together and squeeze her back. I should seriously consider taking up writing Hallmark cards.

A ding from her pocket makes us pull apart. She wipes her eyes and chuckles, embarrassed. “What a thing to wake up to, huh? Bet you weren’t expecting to start your day this way.”

I shrug, thinking of the way I’ve had to start my days lately—with a hand on my heart to check if it’s still working. “Could be worse.”

She frowns, then opens her mouth as though to say something when her phone dings again. A grimace appears on her face as she reads the text. “Uh oh.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, just Paul. When he came in to grab his paycheck this morning, I snagged him so he could cover the desk while I ran up to see you. But, um, I think he might be just a teensy bit high. Like, even more than usual.”

My brows draw together as I lean in for a peek at the screen. It’s a picture. A selfie, actually. Paul is at the front desk, leaning over a dead fly. His long hair is down, falling around his face, and he’s got tears in his dazed eyes as he points at the insect. Below the image reads: I dunno what happened. We were just talking. I swear, Claire. We were just talking.

I can’t suppress a chuckle as I shake my head. “Poor guy.”

Claire snickers with me. “Yeah, I guess I better go help him before things get weirder down there.”

“Good plan.”

She flashes a quick grin as she gives me one last hug, then bounces off the bed, toward the door. As she turns the knob, she glances back at me. “Hey, Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re that kind of person, too, you know. The kind who has what it takes to create her own happy ending.”

I smile vaguely, mulling those words over as the door closes behind her. Placing one hand over my heart, I listen to the silence that answers. A heavy anchor of fear wells in the pit of my stomach at the stillness beneath my palm.

I may not be able to have my own happy ending in this life. But I think I might be able to create one for someone else. Someone who deserves as fair a shot at happiness, at life, as the rest of us.