“That was not your decision.”
“I thought knowing she had reached safety and lost it again would destroy you.”
“You mistook my grief for weakness.”
He did not argue.
“I meant to tell you later.”
“When?”
He had no answer.
“After one year?”
He lowered his eyes.
“Five?”
Silence.
“Ten?”
Still nothing.
I placed the letter on the small table beside him.
“Because of your silence, I spent twenty years apologizing to my daughter for failing her.”
His face tightened.
“I am sorry.”
“That does not correct the record.”
“What do you need?”
“Signed statements.”
I spoke each word carefully.
“Yours. Tanya’s. Phoebe’s.”
He nodded.
“I want the truth included with the case file and every record connected to Teresa’s death.”
“I can arrange that.”
“No soft language.”
“You have my word.”
“No.”
I held his gaze.
“You already gave me your silence. This time, I want it in writing.”
He nodded again.
“You will have it.”
When I returned home, Tanya, Phoebe, and Holly remained in my kitchen.
