I put her suitcases out on the wet pavement in the pouring rain.

And I stood on the other side of a locked door while she pounded on it and begged me — Alexander, please, give me ten minutes, just ten minutes to explain — and I did not give her ten seconds.

I had told myself for three years that I was a strong man who had done a hard thing.

Sitting on that floor, I understood that I had been a coward who had done the easy one.

It is always easier to slam a door than to open it and listen to something that might cost you your comfortable story.