“I’m not going to ask you to take it down,” she said again. “But I want you to say to me, out loud, that it’s mine. The thing that happened. Not yours.”

“It’s yours.”

“And that you took it.”

I had to work at that one. It cost me more than any other sentence in this account.

“I took it,” I said. “That afternoon was yours and I published it before you woke up, and I’ve spent three years being congratulated for it.”

Chapter 15 — Paige

The email came in April, to my work address, which took some finding.