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Kindle Notes & Highlights
Twelve minutes ago, they breezed into my office—glamorous, affluent, enviable. The golden couple. Now the underlying tarnishes they’ve never allowed the public to see are already beginning to show.
“Now I want a memory from you. I want you to recall some incredible sex you had. Something really steamy.”
She moved to Colorado for college and never came back.”
Everyone keeps secrets, I think as I stare through the bay window in my office out onto the quiet, darkened street. Including me.
“Sure. Power struggles are common in relationships, but attempts at control raise that dynamic to a whole new level.
My heart tells me Skip is a decent guy. My gut tells me to never go near him again.
Marissa, seated toward the back, is surrounded by couples, most chatting comfortably but a few sitting in silence and barely looking at each other, as if they’d exhausted all their conversational topics long ago.
Over a decade of marriage, and he hasn’t learned that an eye roll practically guarantees a marital fight? Maybe he’s spoiling for one.
One percent of the population is composed of psychopaths, and most of them aren’t the homicidal criminals we envision. We’ve all encountered them: people who seem charming and charismatic, but who lie without remorse and manipulate and deceive. And female psychopaths can be particularly adept at manipulation.
Every single person here is concealing something, I realize. The velvety, expensive wine, attractive decor, and friendly conversation can’t mask the truth: ugly, explosive secrets are swirling around inside this room.
They’re just beautiful things. They have no importance at all.
Grief is a shape-shifter. It defies logic, sneaking up on you when you least expect it and leaving you empty-handed and hollowed out when you go searching for it.
Grief isn’t linear. It isn’t logical. There’s no structure or civility to it; it grabs you when you least expect it and digs in its nails until you succumb.
