I had ended, at thirty, having surrendered to them so completely that I covered my own body at my own birthday party on my mother’s command.

And the thing that showed me the difference, that snapped the reflex and reminded me the choice had been mine all along, was my sister reaching for my robe.

In trying to take the last thing from me, she accidentally gave me back the first thing: the memory that I had always, the entire time, been choosing.

And the instant I remembered I was choosing, I was able, at last, to choose differently.

Mercy, freely given, is one of the most beautiful things a person can do.