Legend of a Suicide - Pg 29

   When my mother finally broke up with John, on that same couch as I hovered in the kitchen, peeking through the louvered doors, John said, "Okay," and kept holding her hand. Without a fight, my mother wasn't sure what to do. My father had wronged her in concrete ways that could be yelled about. With my father, there had been the possibility of righteousness. But with John, for both of us, there was only the ache of knowing how much we had wanted him to stay.