And Marisol — this was the part she had to sit with longest — had believed that unconditional love required unlimited endurance.

All three of those flawed beliefs had collided, one hot afternoon, inside a single overheated upstairs bedroom.

She could not fairly place the entire failure on the other two.

She had been a full participant in her own diminishment, had trained the household, with every uncomplaining year, to expect that she would absorb whatever was handed to her.

Her love had been real.

But she had confused love with limitlessness, and the confusion had taught the people around her that there was no bottom to what she would give, and people who believe there is no bottom will keep taking until they find one.