“Are you really just erasing ten years of our life together?” “I’m not erasing it, Bruno,” I said.

“Then it still means something to you?” he asked, and I heard the pathetic hope in it.

“Yes,” I said.

“It means I will never again spend a single day of my life giving up my dignity out of fear of starting over.” And that was the last thing I ever said to him.

I took a portion of the financial restitution I recovered, and I paid off my medical bills, and I rented a bright, high-ceilinged apartment in the city.

I did not buy a grand mansion.