“Eight weeks. That’s how long it took Daisy to grow up, never mind that her period would not show up until October. When she arrived in San Juan at the beginning of that summer, she’d been an anxious, small-voiced child. She’d been a kid like all others, glued to her phone, almost entirely defined by a constant thread of worry she didn’t even know existed. That worry was so continual, Daisy had failed to notice the way it sat heavy in her stomach in a fluttering pit. She hadn’t known it was possible to evict that sinking, frenetic feeling. She hadn’t known that the rod of tension usually bulleting down the back of her neck didn’t have to be there, until it was gone.”
―
Jeanine Cummins,
Speak to Me of Home: A Novel