It is not a power I would wish on a child.

But it is the power that won me my freedom, and my fortune, and my dignity, and I have stopped apologizing for the cold, quiet, counting woman who possesses it.

She saved me.

She is me.

And when the next atomic bomb goes off in my chest, as one someday will, she will go quiet, and go cold, and begin, very carefully, to count — and I will be grateful, again, that she is there.

Chapter 10 — Empty Arms