For the first months, Gaby hated Derek, and I understood it, and I did not rush her, because the hatred was a necessary stage, a scaffolding she needed while she rebuilt.

But the hatred kept her checking the news for him, kept her turning his cruelties over in her mind, kept him present at her table like an uninvited guest.

And then, gradually, as she grew stronger and busier and more herself, the hatred simply ran out of fuel, because she had stopped feeding it her attention, and what replaced it was not forgiveness and not affection but a clean and total indifference — the ability to hear his name, or hand her father a story about a pizza delivery, and feel nothing move in her at all.

That was the day she was truly free.