I set the pages on the table and cried for a man I had loved, hated and never fully understood.

He had not been falsely accused in a way that forced him to keep us apart forever.

He had made choices, terrible ones, and then allowed shame to harden around them.

I called Evelyn, but when she answered I could not form the words.

“What’s wrong?”

“I found a letter from Father.”

She was silent for several seconds.

“Would you like me to come?”