“She was a part of him, like an organ. A part that hurt, ached in the center of his chest, in his head, his arms, his feet, the smallest bones of his toes. Yes, the pain dulled with time, but the ache, some memory of it, would remain, a scar from a long-ago surgery that throbs in the cold. Surgically, you could say, he removed her from him. Excised her with the knife of hate, the obvious antidote to love. Excised her with betrayal, humiliation, lies, until he couldn’t stand her for her weakness, for her unstoppable love, that American will believeing it could conquer all, the hubris. See her crying? See her there desiring him still? See her there with her heart torn open by hope? The depths of hope, it’s deep recesses, it’s bottomless well. Five years, that’s how long it took. Even so, he loved her still.”