More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
I would lose nights imagining where Sam was at that precise moment, wondering if there’s a chance he might be thinking of me. Sometimes I felt sure he was—like there was an invisible, unbreakable string that ran between us, stretching vast distances and keeping us joined.
My reluctance to share embarrassing or intimate parts of myself with other women makes them suspicious of me.
“She even made the pierogies and cabbage rolls she wanted served months ago, when she was still well enough, and put them in the freezer.”
It’s true: Sam used to give the best gifts. Once, he mailed me a worn copy of Stephen King’s memoir, On Writing. It wasn’t a special occasion, but he’d wrapped it up and left a note on the inside cover: Found this at the secondhand store. I think it was waiting for you.
I loved you so much that the word ‘love’ didn’t seem big enough for how I felt.
