Michelle Figley

“Well, darling, don't your worry your pretty little head. I've got a type, and you ain't it.”

“For some reason, the despair that's welling up in me is transforming into white-hot rage. I feel it working its way up from my toes, winding around my legs, and burrowing into the pit of my stomach. It spears its razor-sharp tendrils through the pieces of my broken heart. It's crippling, and devastating, and unrelenting. I have only one choice to survive this; I turn that rage outward.”

“With kids, what you see is what you get. There's just truth in their innocence that we as adults have lost and will never regain.”