Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.

You know what__ worse than burying your own child? Not burying your own child.

Loving my son, building my son, touching my son, playing with my son, being with my son_ these aren__ tasks that only super dads can perform. These are tasks that every dad should perform. Always. Without fail.

Okay, be serious. Aren't you ever afraid of anything?""Plenty of time," he said softly."Even when what you're afraid of defies all logic?""Especially then. It's been my experience that fear doesn't have a set of parameters. We can't turn it off just by realizing we shouldn't be afraid.

You don't understand. How could you? We were in the worst sort of hell. We weren't living day to day or even hour to hour. We survived minute by excruciating minute. The next day was an eternity away and we didn't want it. Death wasn't the enemy. It was our salvation.

Why do you even want to be involved with me?" she asked. "I'm a complete mess. I don't have my head on straight. I'm a master at fucking up everything that's good in my life.""But you're my mess." Cole said quietly. "I don't need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you because that's who I care about.