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Four days after I got home, my parents had fussed over me so thoroughly that I was glowing again by the time I met up with my two oldest friends from high school.

They both demanded to know what clinic I was going to. What were these miracle facials?

In the middle of our ribbing and giggling, my phone rang.

Unknown number. New line, only a couple days old—probably a spam call.

I let it die.

That evening, just as I got home, the doorbell rang.

I'd ordered delivery. I opened the door without looking.

"That was fas—"

Ashton.