I do not use profanity in my novels. My characters all go to church.

That’s the thing about life, he knew. There was always a but.

Even if I thought he as perfect for her." She turned to face him. "What were we thinking?" "We weren't," he said. "We were in love.

I fell in love with her when we were together, then fell deeper in love with her in the years we were apart.

Real people had real agendas, real demands, real expectations about how other people should behave.

He smiled, thinking that for just an instant, it was easy to imagine they were still married, both of them on the same team, both of them still in love. Except, of course, that they weren't.

Is it possible, I wonder, for a man to truly change? Or do character and habit form the immovable boundaries of our lives?