Chapter 11 - THE WOMAN WHO BUILT HER OWN LIFE
I moved into a small apartment in Lincoln Park.
It wasn't luxurious.
The kitchen was narrow.
The bathroom tiles were cracked.
And the radiator made strange noises at night.
But it was mine.
I found a new job at a nonprofit that helped women rebuild their lives after domestic violence.
The salary was modest.
The work was meaningful.
For the first time in years, I felt proud of what I did.
Hannah visited every Sunday.
We cooked.
Watched terrible movies.
And laughed about things that had nothing to do with Graham Doyle.
Vincent didn't call every day.
He didn't send gifts.
He didn't appear outside my apartment.
He respected the distance I'd asked for.
Sometimes, he sent a brief message.
Hope you're doing well.
I usually answered.
May you like
I am.
And slowly, that became true.
