Whenever you made a choice, especially one you'd been resisting, it always affected everything else, some in big ways, like a tremor beneath your feet, others in so tiny a shift you hardly noticed a change at all. But it was happening.

How weird was it that so many bits and pieces, all diverse, could make something whole. Something with potential. 'Perfect.

Grieving doesn't make you imperfect. It makes you human.

I had stepped into his arms, showing him my raw, broken heart.

You didn't fail. You just opted out. There's a difference.

You want me to give her a key?" the guy asked. "I want you to give her a possibility," she told him, looking at my necklace again. "And that's what a key represents. An open door, a chance. You know?

I didn't want to talk about what happened, so it seemed safest not to talk at all.