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Saving a life had been thrilling. Too bad it couldn’t compare with the inverse.
The ultimate power in a marriage is the manipulation ability of knowing how and when your spouse will act and react.
If you waited for life to give you something, you’d never get half of what you deserved.
I cared because I didn’t have much to look forward to, and I learned a while ago that anticipation and hope were half of the enjoyment of life.
The hope was what got you through the agony.
The truth of the matter was, a future with Leewood was a fantasy that couldn’t happen—not with Grant and Sophie in the picture.
Too bad I couldn’t get rid of them both. Clear the deck and start fresh with just two cards: Leewood Folcrum and me.
had some great details. I had Sophie and her piles of preteen friends. I even had her birthday, coming up in a few months. Her twelfth. Too many conveniences for it not to be fate.
It could work. It could more than work. It could, if done right, kill multiple birds with one stone.
“Not ugly. No. Our scars are never ugly. They are proof of what we’ve been through. Truth be told, they can be the most beautiful parts of us, if we learn to love them.”
Oh, I understood that. It was why I didn’t want him to touch the scar. It was
mine, proof that I could withstand anything and proof that those who love you the most can be the...
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Sometimes it’s not the people that change. It’s the mask that falls off.
I’ve been reading about narcissistic behavior and the differences between a narcissist and a sociopath. Both work very diligently to appear normal but hide their true nature behind a mask—their public persona. When they act outside of that
public persona . . . say, killing a group of innocent children . . . it’s not a psychological break, it’s just an interruption of the play-acting . . . i.e., their mask slipping off. To say that another way . . . Sometimes it’s not the people who change. It’s the mask that falls off. That is so disturbing to me . . . the idea that the people in my life could be like you, and just . . .
