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When my mother was a little girl, she walked to the playground by herself every day after school. I can picture it easily; photos of her as a child are almost indistinguishable from photos of me when I was little. I used to look at her old yellow-edged school photographs a lot. My mother had a shy, quiet look, a round face, and the same straight brown hair I used to have, though in every picture hers was pulled back from her forehead in two tight little pigtails.

She was lonely when she was little. No one ever asked her to play; she was the clumsy one whom nobody sensible wanted on their team, the timid one who was too chicken to climb on top of the monkey bars. It was the same for me. While other children swirled over the jungle gym and slides in a frenzy of make-believe and hide-and-seek, I would sit by the swings on my own, kicking at the dust. We were two of a kind when we were really young, I can tell. But that was before she met Leigh, and long before I learned how to be strong …

About the book

Two teens are drawn together, promised to each other since childhood by their dreaming mothers.

The girl is sweet, empathetic and ordinary.

The boy: brilliant, charismatic - and damaged.

This is the story of their extraordinary first love that twists and turns towards the ultimate decision.

Can they live without each other?

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Press reviews

“Poignant, beautiful, scary, haunting, bittersweet and SO addicting: Breaking Butterflies has marked me, left me with something I don't think I will forget, ever.”


Author notes

'My goal for my writing has always been to use dark subject matter as a tool to focus on the good in the world. Light is always brightest when it's surrounded by the dark. I wrote Breaking Butterflies with that phrase in mind. This is a story about sacrifice, love, and the beauty that can be found in the most twisted of circumstances.'

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