He could not undo his own tragedy.

But he could stand between another woman and hers, and in the standing, I think, he found the first thing in years that made the weight bearable.

That was what he taught me, before he ever taught me anything else: that the way a person survives what cannot be fixed is to place themselves, deliberately, between the next person and the thing that broke them.

Chapter 11 — Two Heartbeats

Six months after Julian threw my suitcase into the rain, I lay on an examination table at the Hartwell Center, and Dr.

Hartwell moved the wand across my belly, and two small, distinct sounds filled the room — two quick, fluttering, insistent rhythms, running side by side.