The physical changes came first.

The sleepwalking stopped.

The hard flinch every time a car braked outside our window faded to something rare and manageable.

The color came back into her face, and the hollow, faraway look in her eyes gave way, more days than not, to the warm and present woman I married.

She still has hard days — a certain smell, a passing ambulance, and the ghost of a memory will surface and go quiet and withdrawn on her.

But she doesn’t hide it anymore.