He liked, at his work dinners, to mention that his partner was a surgeon — it was a nice ornament on him — but he resented, in private and without end, every hour that being a surgeon actually required of me.

He wanted the title without the reality, the ornament without the woman who earned it.

And Gemma had performed admiration for my dedication to my face while using my night shifts, the very hours that dedication demanded, to slip into my place.

And Brenda had never wanted a daughter-in-law at all; she had wanted a subservient companion for her son, someone who would arrange her whole existence around his comfort and call it love.

What made Zachary different was not that he was perfect.