Knowing the shape of it was enough.

The car came, a plain black sedan, and I slid into the back seat and told the driver the address and settled against the cool leather, and I turned my phone to silent, and I felt, pulling away from that restaurant, no triumph and no cruelty, only a vast and unfamiliar lightness, the specific lightness of setting down a weight you have carried so long that you had stopped feeling it as weight and had started feeling it as simply the shape of your own shoulders.

I was not fleeing a crime.

I had committed no crime.