My father still believed a child was an investment.

My mother still believed I was strong and Lucienne fragile and that this justified everything.

Nothing in them had changed except their circumstances.

And you cannot reconcile with people who have not stopped doing the thing — you can only forgive them privately, for your own sake, and keep the door locked.

So that is what I did.

I forgave them, in the quiet, undramatic way you forgive weather.

And I never let them back in.

Chapter 24 — I Matter

Six months on, I took Rowan to a seafood shack over the bay — no linen, no imported wine, just grilled fish tacos and fries and lemonade in plastic cups.

“Mom,” he said, cheeks smeared with sauce, “this is way better than that fancy club.”