Broken Homes Quotes Novels & Stories

Anton didn’t hear it. “You didn’t just walk into my life. You dismantled it. Brick by brick. You showed me the prison I’d built and called a fortress. And then…” His voice broke. He swallowed, forcing the words out. “Then you built a home with me in the wreckage. You taught me that trust isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the choice to be afraid… together.”

"What do you gain?" "Nothing. Everything." I moved to the window beside her. "I've been where you are. Broken. Controlled. Used as a weapon. Someone helped me. Now I help others. That's how it works." "What if we can't be fixed? What if we're too broken?" "Then we learn to live broken. Find strength in the cracks. Build something new from the pieces." I met her eyes. "You're not alone. None of you are. Not anymore."

As the evening breeze drifted through the open windows, his eyes seemed to sparkle. I suddenly remembered a line from that letter I'd so carelessly dismissed: "Love happens in this world Like the gentle clink of ice in a glass, Like summer's sweet tea on a perfect day."

His detachment is scaring me much more than I'm letting on. I turn to face him. “That's very thoughtful of you. But I wouldn't have minded staying at our home, if it meant being with you, really with you.” My response makes his grip on the steering wheel loosen slightly, his eyes flicking towards me for a brief moment. I give him a small smile and he quickly looks away. I sigh. “And no matter what state the house is in, it's still our home.” And then I remember a quote I read somewhere online that says, “Home isn't a place. It's a person.” And for me, that person is Liam, even though right now, he feels farther away than ever and it's tearing me apart.

My eyes opened and instantly locked with Obsidian’s. “Why are you so sad?” he asked softly. I shrugged. “Sweetness.” “Our home was destroyed,” I whispered. “The pride, the people. Everything they built is gone.” “Not everything.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “A house is not a home when it has no occupants. It’s the people that make it a home and a home is where the heart is.” “I－”

Somewhere between my second cup of coffee and his third whiskey, the distance between us disappeared. After a while, I leaned back, sighing. “You ever think maybe we’re all just… broken people who met at the wrong time?” Tomas chuckled. “That’s the most poetic shit I’ve heard in weeks.” “I’m serious.” “So am I,” he said. “But maybe that’s what makes it work. Broken recognizes broken.” That line stuck in my chest. He wasn’t wrong. I smiled, small but genuine. “You know what? For someone who works for a mob family, you’re not half bad.”

Mine does too, But I learnt to smile, Against all odds. Heartbreak, Trauma, Depression, They made a home in me, Did they try same with you too? You're the kind of broken, That people far and wide, Would one day come to watch. Your scars would be beautiful, It'll shine for all to see. You're a different kind of beautiful, You're broken beautiful. A masterpiece, Most times isn't perfect. It's the flaws, That creates art. Be proud of yourself,

"You remind me of something." "What?" She smirked. "You know what they say? Two broken people either make each other or break each other beyond repair." We both burst out laughing. Make, huh?

I am but I shake my head no. ”I'm here to break it to you that he isn't actually a good person. Remember what I used to tell you? Two shards of glass put together won't make a mirror. You're broken and he's broken. That constant push and pull that has been there since you were teenagers is a trauma response."

I remind " Thank you???" She ask with a frown " Oh thank you for all your help. At least now I am stock in the middle of the forest with a broken ankle and no home of getting home" She says mockingly " At least you are alive" I remind. She should be more grateful, once there is life, there is hope. " You call this living. In the middle of no where, with no amenities. At this rate I will die from a wound infection before the cork crocks tomorrow" She grumbles