Just like that, with one phone call, she was a daughter again.

Even if you couldn't see it beneath the surface, molecules were bonding, energy pushing up slowly, as something worked do hare, all alone to grow.

That was the thing about being alone, in theory or in principle. Whatever happened - good, bad, or anywhere in between - it was always, if nothing else, all your own.

People don't change. If anything, you get more set in your ways as you get older, not less

But if something was really important, fate made sure it somehow came back to you and gave you another chance.

There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.

It was a basic plot in any number of her books: girl strikes out, makes good, finds love, gets revenge. In that order. The making good and striking out part I liked. The rest would just be bonus.