He watched, through the glass, as six hundred people rose to their feet to honor his son.

He saw the silver locket in Julian’s hand, the locket that held the memory of the daughter he had spent seventeen years running from, refusing to look at, locking away in dark drawers.

And I am told that Caleb’s shoulders dropped, all at once, as though something that had been holding him rigid for seventeen years had finally let go.

And then he collapsed against the brick wall of the hallway, and covered his face with his hands, and the heavy, silent tears that he had refused to let himself cry for seventeen years broke through the wall of his anger at last.