“And I hate myself for it every single day.”

Retired Detective Miller stepped forward, took off his hat, and held it nervously against his chest.

“Mrs.

Bennett,” the older man began, his voice raspy with age.

“I owe you and your daughters the most sincere apology a man can offer.”

“You owe me a lot more than an apology, Detective,” I shot back.

“Yes, I do,” Miller conceded without hesitation.

He didn’t try to defend what he had done, which somehow made it even harder to hold on to my anger.