Our tale begins as many do, on a dark and stormy night.

Lightning flashed outside the window of a small house on a hill. Inside the house, Mikayla Hale was crying. She sat in a neat, cozy living room and paged through a worn, handmade scrapbook. She held it carefully, not wanting her tears to fall on the book. 

“Oh Sam,” she cried. “Why did you have to leave?”