That woman had run a multi-billion-dollar firm and negotiated with men twice her age who had never once made her doubt herself.

She had been decisive, and quick, and unafraid.

And she had walked into this marriage and, piece by piece, set all of that down at the door, because she had believed — the way generous people believe — that love meant making yourself easy to love, softening your edges, taking up less room so the person beside you could feel large.

She had mistaken shrinking for devotion.

She had thought that every insult she swallowed was a deposit into some account of goodwill that would one day be returned to her in kindness.

There was no such account.