She was also incredibly confident, with a way of moving and talking that communicated that she didn't need anyone to tell her she was beautiful or worthwhile.

How unbelievably naive we both were that night. We clung hard to each other, making vows we couldn't keep and should never have spoken aloud. That's how love is sometimes. I already loved him more than I'd ever loved anything or anyone. I knew he needed me absolutely, and I wanted him to go on needing me forever.

All that was left for me was a terrible kind of paralysis, this waiting game, this heartbreak game.

I would gladly have climbed out of my skin and into his that night, because I believed that was what love meant.

To marry was to say you believed in the future and in the past, too-that history and tradition and hope could stay knit together to hold you up.

People belong to each other only as long as they both believe. He stopped believing.

Knowing he was suffering pained me. That’s the way love tangles you up. I couldn’t stop loving him, and couldn’t shut off the feelings of wanting to care for him— but I also didn’t have to run to answer his letters. I was hurting, too, and no one was running to me.