The iron gate slid open, and the car pulled away into the evening fog.

For eight years I had mistaken endurance for love.

Standing there with warm water running over the last of the dishes and a drop of my own blood on a linen napkin, I finally understood the difference between the two.

Chapter 5 — The Hidden Door

I peeled off my rubber gloves.

I walked down the corridor into the wine cellar, moved an old bottle from the rack, and pressed the panel hidden behind it.