He’d walked into a coffee shop in Pasadena, head down, sunglasses on, trying to be invisible, the way he’d walked into every establishment over the past three years. A young woman had stopped him on his way to the counter. She didn’t call him “wife-killer” or “motherfucker”—salutations to which Luke had become accustomed. Instead, she smiled, held up her phone, and asked for a selfie.

“Selfie?” Luke had frowned. “Why?”

“Because you’re Luke fucking Kingsley, man.”

It was the inflection in the word “fucking” that won him over. Not hateful, for a change, but laced with respect and reverence. Luke had grunted his consent, and grinned uneasily while the woman held up her phone and took the snap. Other customers joined in, armed with their tech, and for the next thirty minutes Luke posed for selfies and shook hands, and he loved every minute of it.

Furthermore, he noted the hashtags that were used when adding the photos to their socials: #LUKEKINGSLEYISINNOCENT, #LOVE4LUKE, #HEDIDNTDOIT. Luke hadn’t picked up a cell phone since his was destroyed in the fight—the war—at Ramón’s ranch. That afternoon, while Lisa was sleeping, he went to his provider, and attached his account to a new phone. Over the next few days, he searched for those hashtags (and others) across various social media sites, and reveled in the Luke lovefest.

Another development: 109 missed calls. Many were from press outlets, some were from old friends, a few were from his former agent and management team. Luke called Kitty—convalescing with her family in Louisville—to impart this change of fortune.

“Me, too,” Kitty had revealed, and Luke had detected the thread of excitement in her voice. Given what they’d been through, it was beautiful to hear. “My agent’s phone hasn’t stopped ringing. I’ve been asked to do The View and about six other shows. And one of the top L.A. fashion companies wants me to be the face of their new fragrance. Fortitude, it’s called. Or Dauntless. Something like that.”

“Jesus, Kitty, that’s . . . that’s amazing.”

“Yeah, Milly wants me to do it—to do everything—but I don’t know, Luke. It feels too soon.”

“I hear you,” Luke agreed. “But we’ll be yesterday’s news before you know it. This may be an opportunity to lay the groundwork for a more deserved future.”

Over the next six weeks, Luke and Kitty told their stories on daytime and late-night TV. Five appearances in total, although they could have done fifty. Kitty also signed on to become the new face of Dauntless Eau de Parfum. Her first photo shoot was on Venice Beach. Luke was there to support her. Not that she needed it. Kitty had expanded in front of the lens, a natural, a goddess, a hundred feet tall. Luke watched her with undeniable pride. He would never have guessed that she had so many traumas inside.