Silently, I lifted my doggy bowl off the floor. Then, with a quick, powerful flip of my wrist, I threw it into the back of Blondie’s head so hard that – with an earsplitting bang – it smashed flat before it ricocheted across the room and snapped the round top piece off the thick newel post at the foot of the stairs.

The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under. I did not resurface.

You aren't exactly the best judge of what is or isn't dangerous.

I know the exact date that I began writing Twilight, because it was also the first day of swim lessons for my kids. So I can say with certainty that it all started on June 2, 2003.

We did not hope for the same things, but we all hoped.

And it was different because I'd already lost her so many times, so many ways, in my head. And different because she was never really mine to lose. And different because this wasn't my fault.

I can feel what you’re feeling now — and you are worth it.