"That idiot," she says, her voice undeniably fond. "I imagine he's just fine, probably with an entire flock of chickens under his metaphorical wing, as well as a small child or two."

Sylvie doesn't believe she'll ever be as good a person as that. She can't even say it, admit to someone that they might be good, that they might deserve better than the shit they've been through.

The best she's managed to do is threatening to kill people for him.