“When he watched her sleeping, he often thought, My heart lies vulnerable outside my chest.”

“I rubbed my hand over my chest, just above my heart. Mrs. Casnoff watched with a look of concern. "Did he hurt you?""No," I told her. "He didn't."Nowhere you could see, at least.”

“You should smile more often.''Can't.' He grunted as he opened her shirt to expose her chest. 'My face might freeze like that.”

“Your thigh? Your shoulder? Is there any part of you that hasn't been hurt yet?"He seemed to be contemplating my question for a moment and then he nodded. He tapped his chest. "Yeah, my heart." He looked over at me. "But its feeling mighty vulnerable these days, so who knows.”

“...and when he thought about the way she laughed, as though she owned the air around her, his heart thundered inside his chest, a lonely rada.”

“The sound of her breathing reminded me, as it so often did, of how vulnerable she was. And how vulnerable we were because of how much we loved her. The fear - that something could happen to her at any moment, something I'd be helpless to stop - had become so omnipresent in my life that I sometimes pictured it growing, like a third arm, out of the center of my chest.”