He hid his real, unspeakable shame behind a fear that at least felt speakable, and he ran.

I want to be clear, because I have thought about this for a long time now: understanding why my brother did what he did is not the same as forgiving it, and it is a thousand miles from excusing it.

What he did in that room was wrong.

It was a wound he inflicted on his wife and his daughter that will take years to heal.

But it was not the wound I had assumed.