Or he could do what he did, which was the hard, lonely, right thing: pursue it, try first to give my father a quiet exit for my sake, and when my father laughed at that mercy, see it through to the end, knowing it might detonate on the very day he married me, knowing I might never forgive him for it.

He chose the families.

He chose the truth.

And he chose to carry the whole unbearable weight of that choice alone for six months rather than burden me with it before he had to — which was, I would come to understand, simply the most Ezekiel thing he could possibly have done.

The man did the right and costly thing quietly, and asked no one to applaud him for it, even when the cost was our wedding day and possibly me.

Chapter 12 — Colby