I want to say I felt triumphant.

I didn’t.

Standing on that porch watching my brother’s face come apart, what I mostly felt was tired, and sad, and very far away from the two children we’d once been in that house.

There was a version of this moment I might have wanted when I was younger and angrier — Lonnie brought low, made to grovel, the satisfaction of it.

But I found, when it was actually in front of me, that I had no appetite for his humiliation.