She thanked me and put the phone in her coat and went out to the car. I watched her go and thought I had done the best work of my life that afternoon.

It would be four years before I learned what happened next, and which half of it had mattered.

That evening, my father and I walked the boardwalk at Pacific Pines. The ocean breeze moved through my hair, and for the first time in years I wasn’t wearing long sleeves to hide my skin.

The marks on my wrists had faded to faint lines.

“Do you ever regret not coming home sooner?” I asked.

Thomas looked out at the horizon. “Every day,” he said quietly. “But I learned a long time ago that guilt is only useful if you turn it into action.”