I no longer cried every time I remembered the dining room.

Instead, I found myself grieving ordinary moments that had once seemed secure: choosing holiday decorations with Wyatt, watching him lift Piper over his head when she was a baby, hearing him tell our friends that I was the one person who understood him.

Those memories had been real.

So had his cruelty.

Holding both truths was harder than choosing one simple story about a monster who had never loved us.

Lena found me one afternoon sorting photographs into boxes.