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The prologue:

He's thinking of that old math problem, the one where two different trains leave from two different stations traveling at two different speeds"

My brain: ♪ If a train is leaving New York at a hundred and twenty miles an hour and another train is leaving St. Petersburg at the same time... which train do you get on? Who's crazy? ♪

Es la segunda vez que empiezo a leerlo, aunque me esta costando engancharme con la historia, sigo creyendo que va a mejorar. Por que va a mejorar, no que si?

It feels like every time I get my hopes up for something good, reality comes out swinging. I don’t know how to be a hopeful person anymore. It’s easier not to be.

“Are you prescribing me your company, Doctor?” “Detective, you can read me like a book.” She lifted her glass, and I clinked mine against it.

Something doesn't add up... I don't know if I should trust or the author is trying to play with my feelings or something.

And she didn’t want to feel like this could ever end, even though she understood that some love affairs did. Or, rather, that all of them did, eventually. Just the act of falling in love was to agree to a broken heart.

I've an issue with this book. It got me holding back tears the whole commute from work. And those tears REALLY wanted to escape from my eyes.