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

She's been conned, ruined, left for dead, and she's not going to forgive any of it. She will soldier on, if only out of spite.

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

I wanted to be rid of him," he says. He raises my chin with his thumb. "But not if it meant being rid of you. I climbed in beside you, and you put your head in my lap. You can't think I would have left you like that." "Look what it got you," I say. "Tea in bed and you here in front of me," he says. "It was a terrible decision, and I confess I'd make it again.

Write words you’re willing to burn at the stake for. Write words you’d believe in even if the rest of the world didn’t.

You've been captive for so long that you don't even realize you want freedom anymore.

To die trying would be better than to die without purpose.