So how long do you think it’ll be?” he says. “Before the next hurricane comes along to take you home.” “Can I tell you my biggest fear?” I say. “Yes. Tell me.” “That it will be a very windless four years.

Times like this, when she slips her hand into mine and holds on tight, and our husband becomes just a shadow in the doorway.

Maybe hope isn't the most dangerous thing a person can have. Maybe love is.

My sisters were in that van.

I can almost see what Gabriel meant when he asked, 'What has the free world got that you can’t get here?' Almost. Freedom, Gabriel. That’s what you can’t get here.

Good night, sweetheart," he says. "Good bye, sweetheart," I say. And it's so casual, so innocent that he doesn't suspect a thing.

It doesn't matter how much his mother loves him; love is not enough to keep any of us alive.