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“You get on your f**king high horse damn quickly, Caro,” he snapped. I was taken aback at his angry tone. “I’m just saying…” “What? What the f**k are you ‘just saying’?” he said, his voice growing louder with each syllable. “You were a f**king journalist, Caro! You could have found me any time if you’d wanted to. It would have been so easy for you. So easy! I didn’t even know your f**king last name. I was so desperate to find you that I even tried to see that prick of a husband of yours, but he slammed the door in my face and called my CO. I was on f**king punishment duties for weeks after that. But you didn’t give a shit, did you? It’s just lies. You just tell me what you think I want to hear. How can I ever trust you?” — Jane Harvey-Berrick