That was his mistake, and it was a fatal one, because I remembered exactly who we used to be.

I remembered a woman who made herself small so a fragile ego could feel large.

I remembered a woman who talked herself out of every red flag because she wanted so badly to believe in a family.

I remembered the woman who nearly lost everything because she trusted a coward.

I walked to the shredder beside my desk and fed the letter into it without a moment’s hesitation, and I listened to the mechanical whir as his words became a thousand ribbons of confetti.

I know how that looks.