Her mother was by turns tender and pathetic and terrifying, broken in a way that no one, in that time or place, had any idea how to fix.
Mother was,' June thought, 'a beautiful little ornament that was damaged.' Her broken edges cut her daughters in ways both emotional and physical, and only sharpened with age.
He was just a taker. She was a taker in her way too. They were taking each other, and they loved each other for that. -June Havoc
And truth is malleable, something to be bent or stretched or made to disappear, but direct lies always find the path back to the one who tells them.
