There I was, sitting in a quiet corner of Het Goude Hooft, hands wrapped around a latte that had long gone cold. Would she come? Was this real? Or had I walked straight into the hands of some delusional creep with a thing for vulnerable women? Or—just maybe—was this the moment? The moment something would break open inside me and the world would shift? Not that I had any reason to complain. When I was thirteen and told my...

We had just finished the lentil tagine. One of the participants had overcooked the carrots, and Hannelore had made a point of that with a soft but unmistakable tap of her cane on the floor. Lunch had proceeded in its usual rhythm, bowls passing in silence, the soft sound of cutlery on ceramic. As I took a final sip of my tea, Hannelore placed her spoon down with a kind of deliberate grace and looked directly at me. "Joukj...

Countess Hannelore has employed me as her right hand in the Young Adults Development Centre. Mothers and fiancées place young adult men there for training in absolute submission. By the end of my first week at the Young Adult Development Centre, I had begun to settle into my role with surprising ease. Countess Hannelore, ever composed and incisive, had thrown me into the deep end with barely a word of instruction. But I u...