Once I made those four calls from the hospital bed, Zane stopped being the center of my life and became a task to be closed, and then not even that — just a name on documents, and then a shape in the rain outside a shop that smelled of bread.

There is nothing colder, to a man who defined himself by the power he held over you, than to find that you have simply walked out of range and gotten on with your morning.

“Your regret is yours to carry now,” I said.

“My peace is finally mine.

Have a good life, Zane.” I turned and walked back to the warmth.

Fallon, wiping down the espresso machine, asked if she should call security.