If I chased him, if I begged, if I folded myself smaller still to lure him back, they would learn that this was what a woman does — that love is something you earn back by shrinking.

And if I stood up straight, even shaking, even terrified, they would learn something else.

My daughters had spent their whole lives absorbing the lesson that they were the family’s not-quite-enough.

I was not going to hand them one more lesson that a woman’s worth is provisional.

Whatever else I got wrong in those weeks, I was going to get that right, for the four of them and for the son sleeping in the carrier, who was going to grow up in a house where his mother’s back was straight.

Chapter 6 — Keep This Quiet