My father had refused, and it had felt, at the time, like a failure of love.

I understood now that it had been the opposite.

If he had swept in and solved it, the lesson would have been that someone always swoops in, that there is always a parent, a sister, a savings account to reach into when a choice goes wrong.

By refusing, he had left the choice, and its consequences, where they belonged — with the person who made it.

He was not abandoning Monique.