Part of Your World (Part of Your World, #1)

by Abby Jimenez

“Don’t let them decide the life you’re going to live. You only get one.”

I was raised to have an almost godlike deference to my legendary father—I didn’t know anyone who didn’t. You did not argue with him, you did not disagree with him, and you certainly did not tell him to go to hell.

“Ali, men are two things. Disappointing and consistent. I believe you.”

“Grace costs you nothing. My grandma used to say it. She especially liked to say it to herself when I was being a little shit.”

Sometimes what you have to give is enough. Even if it’s a rock instead of a diamond.”

It’s amazing how someone can touch you, even if you only know them for a moment in time. How they can change you, alter you indelibly.

“Nobody likes assholes,” I said quietly. “Sometimes that’s just what you think you deserve.”

“I believe you. I can handle anything you need to tell me. You don’t need to protect me from the truth and I’m here to help you in any way I can. It’s not your fault. And you don’t deserve it.”

“They lure you in. They make you feel like you’re the best thing to ever happen to them, like you’re the most special woman in the world—like you’re seeing something rare. But that’s the trap. It’s how they get you close enough to drown you. And Liz? Nobody can save you until you’re ready to save yourself.”

Love follows you. It goes where you go. It doesn’t know about social divides or distance or common sense. It doesn’t even stop when the person you love dies. It does what it wants.

Nothing made me smile. None of the things I typically loved appealed to me. And it occurred to me that I had drowned. I didn’t save myself. And now I was just floating, weightless, dead inside.

There’s something more final than forever. It’s never. Never is infinite.

My parents had never loved me unconditionally. Never. So then why was I loving them that way? Why did they deserve that? Why did I think I had to sell my soul instead of them maybe learning to be open-minded or tolerant or just quiet about the choices their children were making?

I’d spent my whole life chasing my father’s affection and approval, accepting his hurtful words, letting him get away with it. And I’d always thought Mom was a victim too, that we were in it together—and maybe in a way we were. But for the first time, maybe ever, I saw it differently. Because she never protected us. Mom had normalized this abuse. Indulged it. She’d made me a participant, reinforced this behavior by giving my father what he wanted when he acted this way. The most influential woman in my life had modeled this for me from the day I was born and told me to take it. She’d taught me this, primed me for my relationship with Neil. Made me believe that this was what love looked like.