Not one more hour.” And I started, finally, to cry — not for Gregor, not for the marriage, but out of the sheer relief of being seen, of sitting in a room with a person who was looking directly at me and had never once mistaken me for a chair.

That is what my sister gave me back, in that motel room.

She gave me back the experience of being seen, and once you remember what that feels like, you cannot go back to the corner.

You would rather have months as a person than years as furniture.

I know, because I chose it.

Chapter 7 — The House Is Mine