“We’re going to get married, Posy. You’ll have my babies. You’ll be happy.” He pauses, pensive. “It’s what you wanted. Right?” I don’t say anything. He knows the answer’s yes. Just like he has to know the answer is “no” now. It would be insane to marry a man who hunted you down. Threw you in a trunk. Made you watch him almost beat a man to death. A woman who could do that could have no self-respect, no survival instinct at all.
