Now and adult, allowed a glimpse of these first cracks in my family's perfect surface, I couldn't help but wonder what else I didn't understand about us all. p 60
... afraid of everything because nothing truly terrible had happened to me, yet.
To live for oneself is a terrifying prospect; there is comfort in martyrdom... p 364
Were we women always destined to appear as we were not, as long as we were standing next to our husbands?
Would my son love me, when he was old enough to know what love meant? p 181
