And they managed. The child slept soundly, and there was a lock on Cora's door. Even after Joseph had to get up and go back to his room, leaning over to kiss her goodnight, Cora would lie with her eyes open, content, and listen to the quiet house.
In time, she would decide that what she'd done wasn't madness at all. Was it mad to at least try to live as one wished, or as close to it as possible?
This life is mine, she would think sometimes. This life is mine because of good luck. And because I reached out and took it.