His power vanished because my mother stopped being afraid of him.

That was the thing he had never once imagined could happen, and it was the only thing that ever truly beat him.

Chapter 26 — An Ordinary Tuesday

About half a year later, my mother settled into a small house of her own on a quiet edge of the city, with a garden along the fence.

The recovery had been gradual, made of small ordinary reclaimings: her own bank account again, in her own name, with a password no one else knew; her car keys and the freedom to drive to Saint Paul on a whim; fresh flowers on her own table, bought without asking anyone whether they were worth the money.

Each was a tiny thing.