My uncle once asked me, ‘Are you a virgin?’ when I was already 27 years old. From that moment, I started to be afraid of him. And a few days later, when he took me to a hotel outside the city, he leaned close to my ear by the pool and whispered, ‘After the pool, come up to my room…’”

“I want to meet her,” I said.

Richard nodded.

“I thought you might.”

“And I want copies of every document you have.”

“You’ll have them.”

“And if I discover you’ve lied to me about anything, I will never forgive you.”

He looked at me with an expression I would remember for the rest of my life.

“You have every right to say that.”

I stood and walked toward the door.

Before I left, I turned back.

“One more thing.”

Richard looked up.

“When you asked me that question, you made me afraid of you.”

His face crumpled slightly.

“I know.”

“I thought you wanted something from me.”

“I know.”

“I thought I couldn’t trust you.”

He looked away.

“I’m sorry, Emily.”

I had expected him to defend himself. To tell me I had misunderstood him. To remind me of everything he had done for our family.

Instead, he accepted the consequences of his own behavior.