Your grandfather knew it.

I forgot it for a while.

You reminded me.” And then he did something he had not done since I was a child: he came around the desk and put his arms around me, and held on, and I felt in the strength of that grip everything he could not say — the shame and the gratitude and the fierce, unbroken love of a man who had nearly lost his home and had, instead, gotten his daughter back.

Chapter 25 — The Grief That Was Mine

There was one wound the machinery couldn’t touch, and I want to be honest about it, because it would be a lie to end on the clean click of justice.

The two years of grief were still mine.