The cops had checked the two knives I had, my dad’s old ones, and I got them back. My foster parents knew I had them, but they were pretty cool. The... were into all sorts of things, especially guns. I wasn’t much of a gun guy for obvious reasons. I learned to throw my dad’s throwing knife. When I went out, I took both of my knives with me. When I was at school, the knives staid in my locked car, in my locked glove box. No one but my foster parents knew I had those knives so I was safe. It was. It wasn't a good marriage, and it ended in divorce. Actually, I had just come from my final divorce hearing, the final papers had been signed, and I went to this bar to have a 'celebratory drink'. Sitting there alone in the bar, it hit me - I was a divorcee. A thirty-eight-year-old divorcee. I had no man in my life now and no prospects for one. I knew that I wasn't the nineteen-year-old hardbody cheerleader I once was… I had some miles on me now and I knew there was a chance I had blown the. More

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