He got up from the armchair.

His knees trembled a little against his dark trousers.

He held out his hand to me, palm open, begging.

“Ona, you have to find a way to forgive us,” Higgins said.

“We carry a terrible, heavy burden over this choice.

We did what those hard times demanded of us.”

I looked at his open hand.

I didn’t move one inch toward him.