For the first time in five years, the flawless mask simply came off his face.

“Marceline, this is insane!” he shouted, twisting against the officers.

“I did all of this for us!

Your father always hated me — he always tried to tear us apart!” He turned and searched my face for the woman he’d spent five years building: the one who doubted her own memory, who asked permission to get coffee with a friend, who could be talked out of anything she’d seen with her own eyes.

“Look at me, Marceline!”

I looked right at him.