had been wrong.”
His mouth trembled.
“I was ashamed.”
“I know.”
And that was almost the worst part.
I could understand how one terrible decision, followed by pride and shame, had turned into decades of silence.
But understanding it didn’t mean I could forgive it.
“Did Laura ask about me?”
Dad looked down.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“What did she ask?”
“She wanted to know if you blamed her.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That you had suffered because of what she did.”
I stared at him.
“Did you
