As if I haven't cried enough in 2020, Jasinda Wilde just crushed me with this beautiful story. This is Nadia's journey about trying to find her life again after the passing of her soulmate. The first half of the book was heartbreaking at times. Reading it from Adrian's POV, knowing that he is dying and had limited time with the woman he adores was gut wrenching. My brain had a hard time even trying to process Nadia's loss. The stages of grief are tremendous and they break her down to a shell of a person. The second part of the story is her struggle to climb out of the abyss into a world of hope and life after loss. Jasinda leaves nothing on the table with The Cabin, showing that humans are resilient even through the darkest of times.
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Our Favorite Quotes
"I’ll make it worth your while.”
He palms my butt. “You always do, my love.”
“Ah, the old ass grab. The most romantic move in any man’s repertoire.”
“Why are you still here with me, Tess?”
“Because you’re my best friend. And you’d do the same for me. We made a pact, remember? When we were in that Gaia, Mother Earth phase? We did this whole thing involving period blood and herbs and that godawful wine we made ourselves?”
I can’t help but laugh. “God, I remember. That was so nuts.”
“I meant that shit, Nads. Ride or die.”
I kiss him again, testing the feel of it, the taste of him. It’s as natural and easy as breathing, but still somehow unfamiliar. His lips are his own, unique and different and I have no memories of the feel and taste of his mouth. His hands on my shoulders and arms and back and cheek are new, different, rough, strong, intentionally gentle. His body and bulk are big, and that’s foreign, too. It’s all new. I have to learn him. I have to let him learn me.
From The Publisher
One year ago, I buried my husband.
One year ago, I held his hand and said goodbye.
Now I spend most of my days lost somewhere between trying to remember every smallest detail of our lives, and trying to forget it all. I fill my hours with work until I’m too exhausted to remember him, to feel anything at all.
One year, 365 days—and then one knock at my door changes everything. A letter from him, a last request, a secret will:
My dearest Nadia,
Trust me, my love. One last time, trust me. Sometimes the epilogue to one story is the beginning of another.