His eyes close.
“I thought you hated me.”
The words tear through you.
Six years of distance. Six years of calls that became shorter because Vivian always answered first. Six years of emails that went unanswered because, you now realize, she had access to his accounts. Six years of thinking your father had chosen his new family over you.
You lean forward.
“I never hated you.”
Tears slip down his temples.
“I thought I lost you.”
“You didn’t.”
He turns his hand and weakly grips yours.
“I was so ashamed.”
“Dad, listen to me. Shame is what predators use to keep victims quiet.”
He looks at you, surprised.
You almost smile.
“Yes. Victims. You.”
His face breaks.
A man like Richard Hale does not easily accept that word.
But the truth is not weaker because it hurts his pride.
You continue.
“She abused you. She coerced you. She withheld medication. She tried to steal from you. And I am going to stop her.”
His lips tremble.
“Can you?”
You lift his watch.
“Mom already started.”
