“I want to say something to you and I need you to let me finish it.”

“Dad—”

“Emily.” My voice came out wrong. “I told you to give him grace.”

She was quiet.

“You asked me a question at eleven-forty at night. You asked it the only way you could ask it. And I answered it like a man who had already decided that everything was fine, because I had. Because he sat at my table and called me sir.” I had to stop. “I have spent six weeks telling everyone he counted on my trust. That’s a flattering way to put it. He didn’t count on my trust. He counted on my laziness. It’s easier to believe your daughter is fine than to ask a second question.”

Emily crossed the kitchen and stood in front of me and I could not look at her.