I had been tempted to think of Tobias as a missing chapter of my own story.

But he was a whole book, written over thirty-one years I did not share.

I eventually returned Margaret’s call.

I told her I would speak with her by phone for now, but I was not ready to visit.

She apologized without offering excuses.

It was the first apology she had given me that did not begin with a story about my father’s temper.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” she said.