“You hid all of that.”

“I hid from it,” he said.

“There’s a difference.” He turned the pruning shears over in his hands.

“When my wife was sick, the family’s own doctors treated her like a problem to be managed instead of a person to be helped.

And when she was gone, I looked at everything the Cabot name was supposed to stand for — all that medicine, all that money meant to heal people — and I couldn’t stand to be near it, because it hadn’t healed the one person I’d asked it to.

So I left.