When I wrote HEARTS NEVER BREAK, I was reaching for something different. I envisioned a twist that would drop your jaw and force a held breath. I wanted Maddox and Calliope to not only feel real and lived in, but for you, the reader, to fall completely in love with them. Root for their happily ever after. Maybe even feel sad when you've finished—we've all read those books.
The kind that leaves an impression on you.
Ones that somehow imprint on your soul.
Stories so compelling that you feel like they became a part of who you are.
What I didn’t realize at first was how much of this story was quietly rooted in my husband.
Both he and Calliope are orphans. That’s not just a line on a character sheet—it’s a lens. It shapes how they move through the world, how they brace for disappointment, and how they learn to expect loss before they ever dare to expect love. Calliope’s defensiveness, her sharp tongue, her instinct to push people away before they can leave her... those pieces were born from watching what it means to grow up without the kind of safety most people take for granted.
My husband knows what it's like to carry that kind of history. To build a life on ground that never felt fully solid. To be jaded not because you’re cruel, but because you’ve had to protect yourself for so long that trusting felt dangerous.
And here’s the part that shaped Calliope most: I watched how his edges soften when he finally settled. When home wasn’t a temporary stop, but a place he trusted. When love was no longer something that might've disappeared... but became something that stayed. That shift—from survival to security, from bracing to breathing—is the heartbeat of Calliope’s journey.
She doesn’t magically become gentle. She doesn’t suddenly forget the past. But as she finds a sense of home, as she lets herself believe that maybe this time she won't be abandoned, her jadedness starts to loosen. The armor doesn’t vanish, but it cracks enough for light to get in.
That’s what I wanted to capture in HEARTS NEVER BREAK: not a fairy‑tale transformation, but the quiet, hard‑won softening that happens when someone who’s always had to be tough finally feels safe.
So this book is, in many ways, a dedication to my husband.
To the boy who grew up without the guarantees so many of us are given.
To the man who still carries those scars—yet chose to love anyway.
To the person whose lived experience helped me understand how someone like Calliope would think, feel, and protect herself—and how she might slowly, cautiously, let herself hope.
That's why I chose to query HEARTS NEVER BREAK—regardless of how hard the trenches were. It isn’t just a twisty, emotional story. It was built on something real: the way orphanhood shapes a life, the way safety changes a heart, and the way love—steady, ordinary, everyday love—can be the one thing that finally lets a guarded person reach for the stars.