" When had it happened? When had (she) stolen all the warm, tender places inside me for herself? And the rough, barbaric ones, too? It was as though she’d wandered into my life, all tiptoes and whispers, and reached in and rearranged my entire existence until it started and stopped with her.
I didn’t know, but I was thankful for it. Hungry to explore it, too. "

― Kate Canterbary , Preservation (The Walshes, #7)