It had simply gone underground.

Standing in that foyer, I understood what I had done, and it shamed me.

I had filed Vanessa’s cruelty under “differences in upbringing.” I had told myself that she came from a harder, colder world than I did, that her sharp edges would soften with time and security, that it was not my place to remake her.

And all of that had been a way of not looking directly at something I did not want to see.

Contempt for the people who serve you is not a rough edge.