“Not as a husband, though,” I say.

“Even still,” she says. “Once you said it, I couldn’t ignore it. It gnawed at me for days afterward. Everything he had said and done over the years, I brushed it aside. But you didn’t, and it made me think that I shouldn’t, either.”

“Of course,” I say.

“Our relationship wasn’t balanced, you know?” she continues. “There was never a time when it felt like I had the upper hand, ever. It was always him. We were gymnast and coach and then husband and wife, but the dynamic between us never shifted. We were never equal partners, the way you’re supposed to be.”

“I wondered about that,” I admit. “When I first heard you were together, I just… I couldn’t make any sense of it.”

“I didn’t know how strange the relationship was,” she says. “I didn’t see how unhealthy it was.”

“You deserve so much better than him,” I say. “I mean, nobody deserves him at all, but especially not you.”

I’m relieved for her, but I’m afraid for what I’ve set into motion. I know that, on average, it takes women seven attempts to finally leave their abusive husbands for good. I wonder where Jasmine will go; I’d let her stay with me and Sara, if she wanted to, even though the prospect of Dimitri banging on our door late at night makes me feel sick with nerves.

“I think I know that?” she says tentatively, like she isn’t ready to fully commit to the idea just yet. “I mean, I look at my life, and the only common thread throughout all the different parts—gymnastics, TV, marriage—is that Dimitri has always been right there behind me, making me feel small. Everyone else cheers me on. But with him, it’s always…”

Jasmine falters, and her expression crumples.

“Nothing is ever good enough for him. I’m not good enough for him,” she says. Her voice gets high and tight. “He says I’m too anxious, too sensitive, too mediocre.”

“Maybe you’d be less anxious if he didn’t make you so anxious,” I point out.

I don’t know if she even hears me—now that she’s started to spill how she really feels, she barrels on, spitting out the insults Dimitri has hurled her way over the years.

“The dinner is late,” she recites. “And my cellulite is bad. I supposedly interfere with his schedule. I really don’t think all that is true, but no matter what I do, the comments keep coming… I thought marriage was about being on each other’s team, you know? But not mine.”