The facts did not align into a flattering portrait.

They did not erase forty years either.

I remembered him bringing tea when I was ill, sitting beside me after a family loss, carrying a heavy bag without announcing that he had done something kind.

I remembered arguments, stubbornness, jokes used to avoid discomfort, and apologies that took longer than they should have.

The hidden nine years joined those memories.

They did not replace all of them.