My therapist asked me when I had last felt safe.
I had started therapy six months after Ava was born, not because I was struggling but because I was not struggling and I wanted to understand why, after a year of struggle, things had settled the way they had. I wanted to understand it so I could keep it.
"Before the anniversary," I said. "Before Vivienne came back."
"And now?"
I thought about it. "Now is different. It's not the same kind of safe. Before, I felt safe because I hadn't been hurt yet. Now I feel safe because I know I can survive being hurt."
"That's a significant distinction," she said.
"It doesn't always feel like progress," I said. "Sometimes it feels like I traded innocence for something harder."
"What did you trade it for?"
"Accuracy," I said. "I see things as they
