Resenha – A Five Minute Life

Thea Hughes has five minutes to live.

A car accident stole her parents and left her with the second-worst documented case of amnesia in the world. She now has only minutes of experiences, of consciousness, of life…before her memory is wiped clean. The once effervescent artist with a promising future is reduced to scribbling with pens and paper, living an empty, quiet life, three hundred seconds at a time.

Jim Whelan is on autopilot.

A foster kid shuffled around the system since birth, he’s lived his entire life without knowing love…and it’s taken its toll—until he learned to fight back, carry his armor, and keep his head down.

Working as an orderly in the Blue Ridge Sanitarium, deep in Virginia countryside, Jim looked up…and found Thea.

When Thea has the chance to break free of her five-minute prison with a risky, experimental surgery, it could lead them both to an epic love they never thought possible… or one that could require the ultimate sacrifice.

A stand-alone, new adult romance.

Uau. Eu realmente não sei como escrever uma resenha sobre esse livro. Nada do que eu escreva será capaz de mostrar as emoções que eu senti lendo. Jimmy e Thea são personagens complexos, e eu acredito precisar de mais um livro para continuar aproveitando sua emocionante história. A escrita de Emma como sempre é maravilhosa e te pega nos sentimentos. Ela cria uma história que te prende desde o início. Esse livro é uma montanha-russa emocional do início ao fim, então aperte os cintos! Jimmy, o que dizer sobre ele? O que dizer sobre uma pessoa que está quebrada/abandonada há tanto tempo, mas continua sendo uma boa pessoa? Eu acho que a mensagem desse livro é sobre acreditar. Acreditar que mesmo danificado, você merece ser feliz. Acreditar que mesmo quando alguém está sozinho, ajuda é possível. Acreditar no amor. Acreditar na beleza da vida. E acreditar no que você enxerga, mesmo quando as outras pessoas não conseguem ver a mesma coisa. Acreditar e ser feliz. Wow. I really don’t know how to write this review. Nothing that I say will be able to portray the emotions I felt while reading it. Jimmy and Thea are so complex, that I think I need another book to keep enjoying them. Emma’s writing as always is amazing and get you right in the feels. She creates a story line that gets you from the first chapter. This book is an emotional roller-coaster from beginning to finish, so buckle up! Jimmy, what to say about him? What to say about someone that has been broken for so long, but still is a good person? I think the message of this book is to believe. Believe that even broken, you deserve happiness. That even when someone is alone, help is possible. Believe in love. Believe in the beauty in life. And believe in what you see, even though other people can’t see the same. Believe and be happy.

“Marc Antony,” I said and nodded at her drawing. “Part of your Egyptian studies?”

Thea leaned her cheek on her folded hands like she was warming herself before a fire. “Marc Antony is part of the romance. A love story with Cleopatra. He went to war for her. Died for her. When they told her he was dead, she put her hand in a basket with an asp. Can you imagine? Loving someone so much that the thought of life without them is too unbearable?”

“No,” I said. “I can’t.”

Her gaze dropped to my hand on the table and her fingers reached to trace the scars on my knuckles.

These tell a story, don’t they?” She traced one of the fine lines. “You put your hand in with the snakes, too.”

I nodded slowly, savoring the feel of her warm skin on mine. “So the bullies would leave me alone.”

“And did they?”

“Eventually.”

“I’m glad.” She put her hand in mine completely, her fingers wrapping around and holding tight. “I’m being too… something. Personal. Delia would throw a fit, but I feel like…”

“Like what, Thea?”

“Like I have to hold on to this moment, you know? Or you… I don’t even know you and yet I don’t want to stop talking to you.” Her hand squeezed mine. “I don’t care if you have a stutter, but please keep talking to me, Jimmy. Okay?”

My mouth went dry at the nameless desperation in her eyes.

Jesus, does she know she’s trapped? She can’t. Impossible…

“I won’t,” I said. “I’ll talk to you every day. I promise.”

Thea breathed a small sigh of relief and released my hand. “Thank you, Jimmy. That makes me feel better.”

With a final smile—a parting smile, I realized—she took up her pen and then froze.

She’s resetting.

Confusion passed over her features. She looked up at me, flinching a little to see a big man in close proximity. I instantly leaned back to give her space.

“How long has it been?” she asked.

“Two years,” I said, my voice hardly more than a whisper. “But the doctors are working on your case.”

“Yes, they are.” She smiled hesitantly and found my nametag. “I’m Thea Hughes.”

Seven. Seven times now.

“Jim Whelan,” I said.

She offered her hand. Again. I took it robotically, enduring her one-pump shake. Again. Her fingers didn’t linger in mine but released immediately, the way you do with a stranger. Again.

“Nice to meet you, Jim Whelan.”

Fuck. I can’t do this.

I rose to my feet. “I have to get to work.”

Her face fell. “Oh. Bummer. Will I see you again?”

I could promise her I would, but she wouldn’t remember. There was no promise. I could tell her the sky was falling or my name was Abraham Lincoln and she wouldn’t know the damn difference. It’d vanish, like every other word we’d ever spoken to each other. I vanished every time her reset hit and was recreated over again in Thea’s eyes. I could be whatever I wanted; whomever I wanted. And yet she was the one woman I might’ve had a chance to be myself with.

The terrible irony of it was like copper in my mouth.

“Sure, Miss Hughes,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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Emma Scott is a bestselling author of emotional, character-driven romances in which art and love intertwine to heal, and in which love always wins. If you enjoy emotionally-charged stories that rip your heart out and put it back together again, with diverse characters and kind-hearted heroes, you will enjoy her novels.


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