The Last Thing He Told Me (Hannah Hall, #1)

by Laura Dave

Sources can’t hide it when they know something. They forget to ask the obvious questions they’d want to know, if they were as in the dark as you were. Like, the questions you just asked me about what exactly happened…”

Maybe we are all fools, one way or another, when it comes to seeing the totality of the people who love us—the people we try to love.

This is the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn’t with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again. And you see it with a stark quality: This is what is required of you now, just to get along.

most people don’t want to hear the thing that will make it work better,” I said. “They want to hear what will make it easier.”

This is the thing about good and evil. They aren’t so far apart—and they often start from the same valiant place of wanting something to be different.

In one way or another, this is the deal we all sign when we love someone. For better or worse. It’s the deal we have to sign again and again to keep that love. We don’t turn away from the parts of someone we don’t want to see. However quickly or long it takes to see them. We accept them if we are strong enough. Or we accept them enough to not let the bad parts become the entire story.