“Sabrina, please!” he begged.

“Tell them this was all a terrible mistake!”

And I stood there, and I let myself think, just for a moment, about the six years.

About every time I had made myself smaller so his ego would not bruise.

About the nights I had quietly fixed the flaws in his business models while he slept, and let him wake and believe the good ideas were his.

About the insults I had swallowed because he was stressed from work. And about the belt.