When he took my hand, I let him.

Later, I invited him upstairs.

It was my decision, made without anyone forcing it, and for a few hours I felt like a woman whose wishes still mattered.

The next morning, the other side of the bed was cold.

A white envelope lay on the nightstand.

Beside it was a photograph of me asleep.

PART 2 — What He Had Taken

For several seconds, I thought the photograph belonged to some other room, some other woman.