Winifred died three weeks before I could keep my promise.

At the desk they handed me an envelope she’d left for the dark-haired girl from the fourth floor. Inside, in a shaking hand: I never caught your name, but I knew your eyes.

For years I was polite and quiet while other women disappeared behind closed doors.

If you’re reading this, you survived.

Live for yourself now.

And when you see someone shrink because the person who says they love them has walked into the room — speak up.