But six months ago, everything changed. Margaret Chen, the CEO of our firm—a woman who built an empire from nothing—called me into her office.

“Hillary,” she said, studying me over her glasses. “How long are you going to let that man dim your light?”

I didn’t have an answer, but she did.

My parents saw everything and chose to see nothing. The first bruise appeared three years into our marriage. Mom noticed it at Sunday dinner—a purple bloom on my upper arm where David had grabbed me for laughing too loud at my brother’s joke. She pulled me aside in the kitchen, and for one moment, I thought she’d say something.

“Honey,” she whispered. “You need to learn not to provoke him.”

“Not to provoke him.”