“No,' she whispered over those fields. 'No, you can't have this part of me.'
If they tried to take Sam, she'd do anything she could to stop them, but that choice was his. This one was hers.
'I am not your garden,' she said, the words no louder than the thread of her mother's voice the wind carried.
'I am not one of your pumpkin vines.'
'You do not own what I grow.”
―
Anna-Marie McLemore,
When the Moon Was Ours