“Charlotte, please, find it in your heart to forgive us!” she sobbed.

“Jonathan made a terrible mistake, and so did I!

Drop the charges, talk to the bank, help us save our home!” “I don’t manage the bank’s mortgage department,” I said.

“But you have connections!

Resources!” And there it was, naked at last — the remorse revealed as a negotiation, the apology as a transaction.

“If I were still the poor administrative assistant you believed I was on my wedding night,” I asked her, “would you be on your knees apologizing to me right now?” Her mouth opened and closed; she had no answer, because we both knew the answer.

“You didn’t come here because you feel remorse,” I told her quietly.