Adrian crushed my hand at the altar while four hundred guests watched, then whispered, “From now on, you belong to me. Know your place.” He believed our wedding would secure his control over me. Before the ceremony was over, though, everyone would witness his carefully built image begin to collapse. He still had no idea who was waiting outside those cathedral doors: someone he believed no longer existed.

Two years later, Rachel and I passed St. Matthew’s after lunch. A wedding was taking place. A bride stood on the cathedral steps laughing while her new husband held her hand. Rachel glanced at me. “Does this place bother you?” I looked at those enormous wooden doors. For a moment, I could almost hear Adrian’s whisper again: You belong to me. Know your place.

I smiled. “No.” Because I finally did know my place. It was never behind Adrian. It was never beneath him. And it was never inside the life he had designed for me without my permission.

My place was wherever I chose to stand. And on the day Adrian believed he was finally taking control of my life, the doors behind him opened—and gave it back to me.