Accidentally Yours: The Summer We Became Real
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Ariella Hayes was seventeen years old when she learned that grief had a taste.
It tasted like burnt sugar. Like the batch of croissants she’d left in the oven too long the morning after the funeral, too numb to hear the timer, too broken to care. Like the coffee, she drank black now because adding cream felt like a luxury she didn’t deserve. Grief tasted like everything and nothing.
Mostly nothing...
It tasted like burnt sugar. Like the batch of croissants she’d left in the oven too long the morning after the funeral, too numb to hear the timer, too broken to care. Like the coffee, she drank black now because adding cream felt like a luxury she didn’t deserve. Grief tasted like everything and nothing.
Mostly nothing...




















