Then Emma reached into her bag and removed a small photograph.
It showed Caroline, my father, and a younger version of me at a family gathering.
I had never seen it before.
I looked at the photograph.
For years, David had convinced me that my family was small, my past was simple, and my future depended on him.
He had tried to make me believe that I was powerless.
He had mistaken my silence for weakness.
He had mistaken my illness for surrender.
And he had mistaken my fortune for the only thing I had worth protecting.
He was wrong.
I had my life.
I had my family.
I had my voice.
And I had survived.
When I returned home that evening, the bedroom windows were open.
A gentle breeze moved through the new ivory curtains.
The same color Jessica had chosen.
I stood there for a long time, watching the sunlight fall across the floor.
