Her Perfect Life Quotes

“He never spoke of it again. Where she was. Why he’d stopped looking. No matter how often I asked. But I had to find out exactly what happened to her. Kind of why I became a detective. Then after my father died, this letter arrived.” He held it up again. “We were all distracted, and the unopened mail piled up, and my mother—” He handed it to her. “We didn’t find it until later.” Lily flapped open the top, then the bottom. No date, no signature. The words were typed in the middle of the page. Thank you so much, the letter said. You have given me a perfect life. And I am grateful for it every day. But I want to be me again. And I miss my little sister. Watching her is not enough. Is it finally safe now? Let me know. I want to come home.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“She had made the wrong choice. When would she even learn how the world worked? She was trying to do the right thing, but it never seemed to turn out right. There had to be some way to make up for what happened, to say she was sorry, because she was, she truly was, and she wished she could undo her decision, but she couldn’t, but now she could never say”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“Keep reading.” “Services, donations. Detective Kirkhalter leaves a wife, the former Sandra Wyzeck, and a son—” “There you go,” Banning interrupted. Lily stopped. Stared at the screen. “Walter Banning Kirkhalter Jr.” She read the name, then looked at Banning. Then back at the screen. “You’re kidding me.” “Nope. Yup.” Banning looked almost sheepish. “You can still call me Banning. My mother did, though it’s really my middle name. To her, the only Walt was my dad. I was still a part-time student at the time he was a Berwick town cop.” Lily pursed her lips, trying to calculate. “Are you saying—you were at Berwick College?” Lily waved his statement out the car window. “Come on.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“This is in the Berwick paper. About that detective, Kirkhalter.” She stared at the screen, reading as she did. “Crash still under investigation, lead detective in the Cassie Atwood—‘disappearance,’ it calls it.” “Keep reading,” Banning instructed. “But I know this,” she said. “I’ve read every article and every—” “Humor me.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“If Jem’s friend, whoever that was, the one who’d come to take care of him and found him dead—he was dead, and no way to talk herself out of that—if Jem’s friend knew she had been in that apartment, there would have been no “informational” meeting in this elevator hallway. If Jem’s friend knew her whole name, that she was Cassie Atwood, then the police would have come to find her. But they hadn’t. Maybe she was free.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“Who would they believe, the poor college freshman or the predatory professor? She adjusted the dankly incriminating clothing in her arms again, felt her expression change to sorrow and regret. I wouldn’t want to hurt his reputation, she could hear herself whispering to whoever it was, but—”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“It was a terrible thought. That would mean her. That he’d waited for her. Her face felt cold, suddenly, icicles up her neck. She pretended to listen to her prattling roommate, and standing there, in the stupid dorm in the stupid school holding her stupid clothes, which she should just burn, she started to hate Professor Shaw. With that smarmy turtleneck, and that hair, too long for a person his age. He’d been eyeing her, she knew it. And that was wrong. And actually, now that she remembered it again, he’d delayed her from leaving the building.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“She pictured that notebook, the X-marks Cassie had made. All Cassie’s belongings had been boxed up after seven years, the day the “presumed dead” ruling came. Mumma had made a ritual of it, calling Lily home from college to see the packing and taping and the final discarding. Lily was still heartbroken by the memory of her grieving mother, thinner than ever and brittle around the edges, eyes permanently red-rimmed and bereft. Mumma always seemed to blame herself, which was still a puzzle. And then she died, too. Lily had kept only the one scallop-edged photo, the one she now pinned to her bulletin board.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“This was the part of the Mass Pike where Boston couldn’t decide whether to be beautiful or tough, industrial or commercial; out one window, an abandoned train yard, out the other, a scaffolded soon-to-be-chic hotel development.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“She’d burst into tears at the result. Cassie looked exactly like their mother, a crushing emotional combination that had sent Lily to Rowen’s bedroom, needing to watch her sleeping, to make sure she was still there, penguin in arms and comforter kicked aside. She’d drawn the downy white covering back up over her little girl’s shoulders, breathing a grateful prayer. Had her own mother prayed for Cassie?”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“Mumma had cried every day after that. The police had come back a couple of times, too, and she’d even tried to talk to them, but she was little, and they wouldn’t listen. That’s when Gramma Lily had come to stay with them. Making sure Mumma got the rest she needed. They’d sit on the edge of Lily’s bed, side by side, Gramma smelling of what she called mew-gay. Lily had looked it up. Muguet, it turned out to be. Lilies of the valley. “She’s my little girl again,” Gramma had told her. “We need to take care of your mumma, my little Lil. It’s only the three of us now.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“For years, his first wife held this transgression, this betrayal, this unforgivable sin—over his head. But now he’s free and happy and eager to move forward.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“If Rowen didn’t exist, Lily thought, it would be as if she herself didn’t exist. How had her own mother dealt with Cassie’s disappearance? How could she have let it happen? She hadn’t understood the intensity of the connection, not really, not until Rowen appeared in her world. But she’d never let anything happen to her daughter. Never. She touched the wooden doorframe, just to make sure.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“She alternately cursed Sam Prescott and longed for him. He’d told her his wife, enraged, had found out about them. Demanded he cut all ties. As a result, he was missing out on his own daughter; either exactly what the bastard deserved, or unendingly sad. Lily had resisted googling him as much as she could. But she knew Sam was still practicing law, and divorced, and then married again, to some Isabel DeSoto, la dee dah, who was rumored to be running for Congress or something in Colorado. Big money, big family, big power. Big boobs. No kids. Ticked all the necessary Sam boxes, apparently.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“You’re so pretty, Mumma…” Rowen’s voice trailed off, and her long eyelashes fluttered gently, then closed against her soft cheeks. Lily watched her little chest rise and fall, memorizing her, absorbing the fragile innocence of her seven-year-old. The time seemed to go by so quickly, every day so fleetingly precious, with Lily constantly battling to prevent her own celebrity from coloring Rowe’s view of the world. And increasing her vulnerability.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life

“how every single thing we do, every single decision we make, opens one door and closes others.”
― Hank Phillippi Ryan, Her Perfect Life