Then she left, and I never saw her again.

I think about her more than I think about Sennett or Perpetua, because they were simply guilty, and she was something sadder and more human: a person who let the worst thing that ever happened to her become the only thing about her, until there was no room left for a life.

I had come within one blue pill of the same fate.

I do not know that I was wiser than Silvia.

I think I was only luckier — luckier in the moment the fog thinned, luckier in the people who’d believed me, luckier in having, at the very bottom, something to rebuild toward that wasn’t only someone else’s ruin.

Chapter 21 — The Divorce