My anger at Gemma was not hurting Gemma.

She was off in her own collapsing marriage, reaping what she had sown, entirely untouched by whether I stayed furious.

My anger was a stone I was carrying, and had been carrying for months, and one day by that fountain I understood that I could put it down — not for her sake, but for mine.

That is why forgiving her and refusing to let her back into my life were not in tension at all, though people always seem to think they should be.

Forgiveness is about what I set down.