Logan Cross met her first love on the playground when she was nine. She married him at eighteen. But life had different plans for Logan. And now at twenty-two, she is in the midst of starting over when Jorgen Ryker moves in next door. Jorgen suspects that Logan might be hiding a few secrets, but neither he nor Logan are ready when she reveals her biggest secret from her past—a secret that neither of them realizes they share.
What People Are Saying
~ A Novel Review Blog
"Laura Miller has captured small-town life perfectly."
~Romantic Reading Escapes
“If you like Nicholas Sparks, you're sure to love Laura Miller. Her books always leave me in emotional warfare. For All You Have Left was no different."
~Erica of Gutter Girls Book Reviews
Watch the Trailer!
Read the Prologue!
That’s one thing I remember about my last ride—about the day that changed my story forever. It’s the dark thing—the memory I wish I had lost, along with most of the others.
The other thing I remember, though, is my light—my little piece of hope when all hope seemed lost. I remember the way it felt in my hand. It was hard, and its edges were just sharp enough that I could almost feel pain again when I squeezed my fingers around it. I wanted that so badly—pain. I wanted to feel pain on my skin and in my bones, anywhere that wasn’t my heart. I was starting to feel numb, and it was almost more terrifying than the thought of a tomorrow—a new day where I would be living someone else’s life.
No one had told me at the time, but I already knew. I already knew my life was going to be different. I knew my life had changed. I remember squeezing my bloody fingers around the metal edges of that shiny figure, pressing the sharpest edge into my thumb—until I felt something. I knew I was leaving my life out there along that quiet highway, among the swaying wild flowers and that bitter smell of burnt rubber. And as the doors shut and the ambulance pulled away, my eyes fell heavy on the hope in my hand. And I remember thinking: If I could still feel, maybe I wouldn’t just wither away—maybe there was still hope for me.