She left one key to one granddaughter.

I am spending the rest of my life cutting copies, and pressing them into the hands of women who do not yet know they will need them, so that they will never have to stand, as I once stood, at a door they cannot afford to open.

My grandmother turned her life’s careful saving into my freedom.

I am turning my freedom into other women’s.

That is the only revenge I ever actually wanted, and it is the only kind that builds something instead of merely destroying: to take the exact weapon that was used against so many women — their financial dependence, their lack of a door — and to disarm it, one kitchen table at a time, so that fewer and fewer of them can ever be trapped by it again.