The criminal case took nine months.

In the end, faced with a mountain of documentation he himself had been too tidy not to create, Cassian pleaded guilty to wire fraud, falsifying records, and conspiracy, in exchange for a reduced sentence.

The clinic administrator lost his license and went to prison, and the roster of ruined lives he’d sold and forged and diagnosed to order went with him into the record.

The surgeon who had scarred me for a fee faced a civil judgment and professional discipline.

One by one, the people who had built their comfort on the manufactured brokenness of women like me were made to answer for it, in courtrooms, on paper, in the exact language they’d thought they controlled.

In the divorce, I recovered my savings, my grandmother’s bracelet, half the equity in the house, my legal fees, and damages.