That was the thought I could not put down.

My rescue had been a matter of luck as much as strength — the luck of having been powerful before I was wronged.

And it seemed to me indecent to keep that luck to myself.

So I built the fund.

Not as a monument to what I had survived, but as the thing I wished had existed for every woman who did not happen to hold the master key to her own cage.

That, in the end, is the only revenge I have ever found worth taking: to make sure the next woman is not saved by luck, because she has been handed, in advance, the power I had to nearly die to remember I already owned.