And then I felt the fury every woman feels, on learning that the man who broke her still breathes. Why was Caden even alive? What purpose could he serve? And why was he still going out, having a nice time, when he ought to be sitting on the floor of a featureless garret, weeping over my old text messages? There was something impudent, something hard-necked about his vitality, his insistence on just being, exactly as he was before. He was thriving; I was altered at a cellular level. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. He had killed something in me. He ought to atone for it by killing himself.