I was determined to write myself back into the frame, to grab hold of the bull and stamp my name on his tongue. To never cower to my father, or any man, again. Now my niece was coming, and the way forward was clear. This book I was envisioning, I would write for her. I would write for every Sinclair girl who was still to come. For them, I would try to point the compass forwards: to change the shape of our lineage, the weight of her legacy. So she who comes next would never have to know the fire. So she who comes next would always know herself.
