Good feels easy—but what happens when good on the inside is bad on the outside?
Some stories don’t end. They just find a new place to be told.
On Day 909, William walks into a bar in rural Ohio and takes a seat. He’s been counting since the beginning—since the day everything started—and he hasn’t stopped. He orders a Guinness, opens his tablet, and begins.
What he carries into that bar—the weight of nearly three years, a loss he hasn’t named out loud, and a ring he keeps in his pocket—is the story he’s come to tell. Pat listens across the table every night. Sage watches from behind the bar, reading people the way bartenders do. And Sarah, who has every reason not to trust William, keeps her distance and watches anyway.
Four people, each holding a different piece of what happened.
Days is a novel told in two directions—William living forward through what’s coming, the audience moving backward through what shaped him. A story about memory, consequence, and the quiet damage of uneasy choices. And whether the truth is ever really one thing, or just the version that survives.
