“Oh God, now she couldn’t remember why she’d ever left him. She needed him. More than air or sunlight and beaches, definitely more than garlic.”

“Why couldn't she just come out and say she liked him?Maybe it was because she more than liked him.”

“She misses him more now than when he was away”

“She’d fucked him over hardcore. She’d betrayed him and she’d lied to him, and she knew that as far as he was concerned she’d led him on and used him as well, had consorted with people who wanted to see him dead and given them information to help them make him so. Most of all, she’d hurt him. And if the pain in her chest was anything close to what he’d felt, she was more than willing to admit he deserved to get his own back. Was willing to do more than admit it; was willing to take it, in the hopes he’d eventually decide she’d been punished enough and they could maybe move on.”

“The knowledge that she could learn to love a man had always meant more to her than loving him effortlessly, more even than falling in love, and that was why she now felt that she was on the threshold of a new life, a happiness bound to endure for a very long time.”

“She didn’t look back. I remember that more than anything else. She didn’t look back. I wanted to mean more to her than that. I wanted her to turn, because I was sure she’d change her mind. And perhaps she would have, and that’s why she didn’t.From the story 'Rain Dancing”