Talvez aquilo fosse a definição do amor, afinal. Querer uma pessoa, precisar dela e a adorar até mesmo nos momentos de fúria, quando se tinha vontade de amarrá-la à cama só para que ela não saísse e causasse ainda mais problemas.

I'm home'', he said against her skin, and she realized it was the truth.''I'm home, too''.

And she never knew that he laid awake the whole time, his lips at her temple, his hand against her hair.Whispering her name.Whispering other words as well.

He touched her cheek, and he looked into her eyes. He saw his whole world there

. . . I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter friend. I do love you, dear Mama.

Francesca não precisava amá-lo. Mas tinha de se sentir livre. Livre para ser feliz.Porque se não estivesse feliz...Bem, ‘isso’ o mataria. Podia viver sem o seu amor, mas não sem a sua felicidade.

I knew nothing but love and devotion when I was growing up. Trust me, it makes everything easier.

Was it possible to fall in love with the same man over and over again, every single day?

He didn't know if there was a word to describe what he felt in that moment, how he saw the lines of his own heart when her eyes met his.