I did not feel vengeful.

I felt, if anything, sorrow, running quiet and steady underneath the resolve — sorrow for the man I had married in good faith, for the years I had spent being smaller than I was to make room for him, for my father, who had seen this more clearly than I had and had said nothing because he loved me.

But sorrow is not the same as hesitation, and I had learned by then to feel the one without letting it become the other.

I closed the laptop after the file was sent.