He’d carried my sandals when a strap broke and insisted I take his jacket when the wind turned cold.

That young man had existed.

The man who later hid me from his secretary had existed too.

I did not need to solve the contradiction before moving on.

I called my sister that evening.

We talked about growing up, the way our father labeled every file, and how our mother used to say that kindness without boundaries could become another form of fear.

“You sound different,” my sister said.