Like so many things Henry had wanted in life -- like his father, his marriage, his life -- it had arrived a little damaged. Imperfect. But he didn't care, this was all he'd wanted. Something to hope for, and he'd found it. It didn't matter what condition it was in.

I think I get it now. It doesn't matter how nice home is--it just matters that it feels like home.

He'd do what he always did, find the sweet among the bitter.

Some things just can't be put back together. Some things can never be fixed. Two broken pieces can't make a lot of anything anymore. But at least he had the broken pieces.

As an author, I get paid to break my own heart on a regular basis.

Like so many things Henry had wanted in life -- like his father, his marriage, his life -- it had arrived a little damaged. Imperfect. But he didn't care, this was all he'd wanted. Something to hope for, and he'd found it. It didn't matter what condition it was in.

After a lifetime of nods, frowns and stoic smiles, they were both fluent in emotional shorthand.