It was a slow dawning, and the realization came when I crossed under the traffic light of the street on which I was raped almost a decade ago. I have just gotten to the stage where I can shout vulgarities down that road, raising anger instead of fear. But it occurred like a sudden jolt from a static shock that after I changed my name, after I had my moment of power in the courtroom before the judge who smiled as I gave her my reasons why, after the papers were signed and stamped and new IDs printed, that he no longer knows my name. He cannot call me by name, and he has no power over me. That grin lasted me until sleep, and I still can’t shake it.