After a while he walked out into the quiet hallway, and I followed him.

He leaned his forehead against the cold tile of the wall.

“My father could have killed him, Evelyn,” he said.

“He left my nine-year-old boy outside to freeze to death over a watch.

He could have killed him.” “Yes,” I said.

There was no softening it, and I would not insult him by trying.

“My whole life,” Julian said, and his voice was bitter and broken, “I told myself he was just strict.

Every single time you came to me upset about how he treated us, how he treated you, I told you that’s just how he is, that he means well, that it’s just his way.