"I didn't want to pass anything on to them, anything they'd be better off without. At those times, I would lie on the floor in the dark, with the curtains drawn and the door closed. I would say, "Mummy has a headache," "Mummy's working." But they didn't seem to need that protection, they seemed to take everything in, look at it straight, accept everything. "Mummy's in there lying on the floor. She'll be fine tomorrow," I heard Sarah tell Anne when one was ten and the other was four. And so I was fine. Such faith, like the faith in sunrise or the phases of the moon, sustained me."
--from Cat's Eye, by Margaret Atwood