And you lost the home.” At thirty-eight I met a man named Daniel Vance, a steady financial consultant raising a son of his own, and what I noticed first was that he respected my independence as though it were the most attractive thing about me, which, to him, it was.

The difference between Daniel and Gavin is the whole education of my adult life, compressed into two men.

Gavin had loved me most when I was smallest — when I depended on him, deferred to him, needed his permission, fit inside the frame he’d built.

My shrinking was, to him, a kind of devotion, proof that he mattered.

Daniel is the opposite creature.

He is drawn to the parts of me that take up room.