15
" Being here . . . meeting your mother and seeing where you came from and who you somehow turned out to be . . . it’s inspiring, Quinn. I don’t know how you did it, you selfless, amazing, incredible woman.”
A lot of people can’t pinpoint the exact moment they fall in love with another person.
I can.
It just happened.
And maybe it’s coincidence or maybe it’s something more, but Graham chooses this exact moment to press his forehead to mine and say, “I love you, Quinn.”
I wrap my arms around him, grateful for every single part of him. “I love you, too. "
― Colleen Hoover , All Your Perfects
19
" He’s wondering if I saw him wipe the remnants of her off his mouth. Off his neck. He’s wondering if I saw him adjust his tie. He’s wondering if I saw him press his head to the steering wheel in dread. Or regret. He doesn’t bring his eyes back to mine. Instead, he looks down. “What’s her name?” I somehow ask the question without it sounding spiteful. I ask it with the same tone I often use to ask him about his day. How was your day, dear? What’s your mistress’s name, dear? Despite my pleasant tone, Graham doesn’t answer me. He lifts his eyes until they meet mine, but he’s quiet in his denial. I feel my stomach turn like I might physically be sick. I’m shocked at how much his silence angers me. I’m shocked at how much more this hurts in reality than in my nightmares. I didn’t think it could get worse than the nightmares. I somehow stand up, still clenching my glass. I want to throw it. Not at him. I just need to throw it at something. I hate him with every part of my soul right now, but I don’t blame him enough to throw the glass at him. If I could throw it at myself, I would. But I can’t, so I throw it toward our wedding photo that hangs on the wall across the room. In repeat the words as my wineglass hits the picture, shattering, bleeding down the wall and all over the floor. “What’s her fucking name, Graham?!” My voice is no longer pleasant. Graham doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t look at the wedding photo, he doesn’t look at the bleeding floor beneath it, he doesn’t look at the front door, he doesn’t look at his feet. He looks me right in the eye and he says, “Andrea.” As soon as her name has fallen from his lips completely, he looks away. He doesn’t want to witness what his brutal honesty does to me. "
― Colleen Hoover , All Your Perfects
