Julian did not save me.

I had already saved myself, in the fountain, in the restroom, in the two words I sent him — the decision to stop disappearing was entirely my own, made before he ever walked through those glass doors.

What Julian did was something different and, I have come to think, rarer and better than rescue.

He believed me instantly, without needing proof or explanation.

He was angry on my behalf without making his anger the center of the moment.