The older men on the board learned to respect me quickly; I acquired and turned around companies with clean, decisive moves. I knew exactly how dishonest operators hid their tracks, because I’d watched my family do it for years — and I put that knowledge to work.

One late afternoon I stood on the stone balcony of our house above the water. The wind came off the sea and moved through my hair. Below, on the grass, Alistair was chasing four-year-old Kirk, who shrieked with laughter and bolted away clutching one of his father’s shoes.

“You can’t catch me, Daddy!” Kirk yelled, running as fast as his small legs would carry him.

“Oh, I’ll catch you!” Alistair laughed, scooping him up and tossing him into the air until Kirk howled with delight.

The sound of them filled my chest with a joy that felt almost too large to hold. I leaned on the railing, at peace. I had once been a frightened girl in a hospital bed, waiting to be hurt.

I wasn’t her anymore.