Come Fly with Me: A Novel

by Camille Di Maio

Love is blind may be a well-worn phrase, but only because women often look into the dazzling brilliance of infatuation and allow it to eclipse the wisdom of the women who came before them.

At first, I thought it was an accident. The first time he hit me, he made me believe that I deserved it. I don’t even remember the cause. It became too commonplace an occurrence to recall.

Look at me, setting the women’s movement back a notch. All this talk about not needing a man. But what do they say about wanting one?

Interestingly, by expanding my world, I’ve come to appreciate the small spaces in it.