" What he doesn't know is that in a way it's always been both at once: whichever one she's with, the other one is there with her as well, invisible, partaking, though at some unconscious level. Unconscious to him but conscious to her, because she holds them both in her consciousness, so carefully, like fragile meringues, or uncooked eggs, or baby birds. But she doesn't think that's a dirty thing, cherishing both at once: each of them has a different essence, and she happens to be good at treasuring the unique essence of a person. It's a gift not everyone has. "

― Margaret Atwood , The Heart Goes Last