Jack already knows that his stupid childhood scribbles are not the reason his parents are missing, okay? You don’t have to patronize him by being all “it’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong” with that tragic look in your eyes.
But still.
Sometimes when he feels like poking the wound, Jack opens up the diary. The last gift he ever received from Mum. Sometimes he tries to put his hands on exactly the same spots her hands held when she presented it to him. Sometimes he tries to relate to the excitable kid who wrote those entries. It feels impossible. That kid was just so… naive.
The last entry is the worst one.
Uncle Jove is the best adult in the whole world! He doesn’t make me clean up the table or do my school books (even though Dad made me bring them) or have a bed time. I want to spend the rest of my life with him at the hotel and never go home!













