On opening day, I stood in front of a mirror with no makeup over my scars.

Liam came up behind me and kissed the tight skin near my temple.

“Still think I married beneath me?” he asked.

I smiled. “You married the woman who carried you out of hell.”

Outside, survivors and their families filled the garden with music.

Beatrice sent one letter, asking for forgiveness and money.

I sent it back unopened.

Then I took Liam’s hand and walked out into the sunlight.