“Your father believed that loyalty was something you inherit automatically,” Grandma said, looking straight into my eyes, “regardless of how you treat people.

He believed that blood gave him the right to strip away my dignity while I was still breathing.”

She reached out and took my hand in hers, and her grip was surprisingly firm.

“You drove one hundred and ninety miles without asking a single question,” she whispered, her eyes shining.

“You stood between me and the people who tried to make me feel small.

That isn’t just blood, Ivan.