He sounded like the little boy who used to come to my room after a nightmare.
Every instinct in me wanted to reach across the table and comfort him.
But I could not.
Not yet.
The wounds were too new, and comforting him too quickly would have required me to ignore my own pain.
“I’ll make it right,” he said when he could speak again. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll work to earn your trust. I’ll be the son you deserved all along.”
“I hope so.”
“I promise.”
“Promises brought us here, Michael. What matters now is what you do.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
A deputy opened the door and told us our time was over.
I stood.
Michael looked up at me.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too.”
Then I walked away.
The months that followed were difficult.
I had to rebuild my own life while trying to understand what had happened to my family.
