There had been no beginning.

There had been a plan, and I was its raw material — chosen precisely because I was a little unsure of myself, a little estranged from my own judgment, and attached to a father worth a great deal of money.

My insecurity had not been a flaw he’d loved me in spite of.

It had been the specification he’d shopped for.

Somewhere out there was a version of this man’s life in which he’d scrolled past a more confident woman and thought, no — too much friction, and moved on.

I had been the path of least resistance.