Coraline at twenty-four, laughing in Central Park with snow in her hair.

Coraline asleep on the terrible plaid sofa in the Queens apartment.

Coraline holding up a positive test, her eyes shining with terror and joy at once.

I traced her face with my thumb.

I had promised her the world; I had promised to build a fortress for us.

And the first moment a real test came — the moment I was offered a shortcut paved with Delphine’s inherited money — I had thrown her into the fire to fuel my climb, and called it a necessary sacrifice for greatness.

Today, watching the failure of the boy I had bought and the god-like triumph of the boys I had discarded, I understood the shape of the joke the universe had made of me.