Years later, Evelyn understood he had been describing the quality he found most useful.

They married in a courthouse with twelve guests. Evelyn wore a cream dress she had sewn herself. Daniel promised that once his career settled, she would go back to school.

“Two years,” he said, holding her hands outside the courthouse. “Then it’s your turn.” Evelyn believed him, because she loved him and because people rarely understand how easily a promise becomes a postponement.

Two years became five. Daniel made partner at a prestigious corporate firm. They moved into a restored brownstone on the Upper West Side, and he began representing developers, investment firms, and technology companies whose executives appeared on magazine covers.

Evelyn was given the attic. At first, she loved it. The ceiling sloped sharply on one side, but the north-facing windows filled the room with pale, even light.

She painted in the mornings before managing the house and at night after Daniel came home from client dinners.