I sat holding the picture for a long time.

Robert had known.

There was no longer any way to explain the suspicious payments as unrelated or his confidentiality note as some bureaucratic misunderstanding.

He had seen Austin growing up.

He had come home and looked me in the eye while I grieved.

When Wyatt saw the photo, he left the room.

A few minutes later I found him on the back steps, where the cold air had reddened his ears.

“Dad was at Austin’s house,” he said.