But instead of tears, when I press my face against the pillow, a horrible, primal scream comes out of me. It's unlike anything I thought myself capable of. Rage, unlike anything I've ever known.

I start trying to stay unconscious. The problem with this is that no amount of willpower can change the reality.

Rhine. The river that, somewhere out there, has broken free.

I think humans have always been desperate. I think it has always been about doing something awful if it might help, when the only other option is death. Maybe that's what being a parent is supposed to feel like.

On tiptoes the redhead wouldn't even reach my shoulders; she is clearly too young to be a bride. And the willowy girl is too forlorn. And I am too unwilling. Yet here we are.

The sullen boy sitting before me is not my husband, and the girl he is fretting over isn't me, will never be me.

So many of the things I've wanted are the things I've been taught to fear.