“I only lose my temper because I care so much about your future,” he said, and patted my hand, and released it.

The cold weight of the diamonds sat hard against my skin.

I want to name the thing plainly, because for a long time I could not.

This was not a difficult man with a temper.

This was a campaign, and the bracelet was part of it as surely as the raised voice had been.

The bruise and the diamond are two tools for the same job, which is to teach a person that her own perceptions cannot be trusted, that the pain and the gift come from the same hand and so must somehow cancel out, that the sensible thing is to stop keeping score.

I am a forensic accountant.