That is the thing I had to learn to live with.

People are not always one thing.

Sometimes the person who reads your children bedtime stories and the person who seals them in a box are the same person, and the fact that they are the same person does not make either half less true.

Kenneth had loved us, in whatever broken and shallow way he was capable of love, and Kenneth had tried to bury us alive for money, and both of those Kenneths had lived in my house and eaten at my table for fifteen years, and I had only ever met one of them.

His fumble in the dark saved us.