For Nine Years He Mistook My Silence for Surrender; What He Never Understood Was That Every Dinner I Didn’t Fight About Was a Day I Stayed Close Enough to Gather What I Needed to End Him
But my silence was never submission.
Submission is when you stop wanting to leave.
What I had was the opposite: I wanted, very badly, to be free of him, and I had understood, clearly, that the way to become free of a man like Roman is not to fight him on his own ground, in the loud, chaotic, deniable arena of shouting matches, where he was stronger and where nothing could be proven.
The way to become free of him was to fight on my ground — the quiet ground of documents, and records, and law, and patience, where his strengths meant nothing and mine meant everything.
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