“She asked me why she should.”

I sigh. I’m not entirely sure why he’s telling me this. God knows nothing has changed.

“I just—she screwed up, Syl. They both have. But that doesn’t mean you will.”

I lick my lips, but I don’t say anything. I don’t want to talk about this, and I’m regretting even telling him in my message that I’d left Jackson and Ronnie.

“I know we’ve grown up saying that we’re not going to have kids because it’s just a goddamn vicious cycle, but it doesn’t have to be. You can stop it.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” I say.

“You know what I mean.”

I do, but I don’t want to talk about it. “Listen, I need to get dressed.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly.

“No,” he says firmly, “it’s not. Listen, I’ve been thinking. And the thing is that you love him.”

“Ethan, please.” My voice is cracking with my words.

“Dammit, Syl, hear me out. You think you can’t be a mom. You think you don’t have a role model. But you do. Don’t you get it? You’re your role model.”

I run my fingers through my hair, feeling too ripped up inside to try and figure out what he’s talking about. “Ethan—”

“You are. I mean, if parenting is about taking care of someone—about being willing to sacrifice for them and make really hard choices—well, then you already know how to do that. Don’t you get it, Syl? You did that for me already.”

I suck in a breath, his words surprising me and making tears spring to my eyes.

“You were as much a parent to me growing up as they ever were. Maybe more. I’m sorry if I’ve made it harder for you. Made you doubt. I shouldn’t have. Because you can do it, Syl. I promise you—you already know how.”

“I—” I can’t talk through the tears. I sniff and try to breathe, and then manage to tell him that I have to go. Because I can’t handle what he’s saying right now. I can’t process if it’s true or not, because it’s just too much. Too big. “I’m sorry,” I add. “But I have a scheduled time to meet with him.”

I hang up without waiting for him to say goodbye.

Could he be right? I want to believe it, but I’m still scared. And with a little girl’s life at the heart of it, I can’t run the risk of being wrong.

Two hours later, I’m sitting in the private visitors’ room at the county jail where my dad is being held. It’s stark and cold and as much as I hate my dad for what he did to me, I can’t stand the thought of him living in a room like this for the rest of his life.

The door opens and my father is brought in, his hands in cuffs, his body dressed in an orange jumpsuit.

I rise and start to go to him.

“No touching,” the uniformed guard says, and I realize that I’d been about to hug my father, something I haven’t done since I was thirteen years old.

“Oh,” I say. “Right.”

“I’ll be outside,” he says. “I can’t hear you, but if you need anything you signal me.”

I nod, and then I take a seat at the table as my father sits opposite. The officer unfastens one handcuff, then refastens it to a bolt on the table. Then he turns, leaves the room, and shuts it with a final-sounding click behind him.

“You killed Reed,” I say without preamble, and I realize as I say the words that it is the first time since I was a child that I’ve felt the protection of this man. “You really did it.”

He looks straight at me, and I see genuine warmth. “I should have done it a long time ago.”

I look down at the tabletop, not wanting him to see how much I agree. When I’ve gathered myself, I lift my head, and I know my eyes are accusatory. “You let Jackson just twist in the wind. All that time. He was almost arrested. Hell, he was almost convicted.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I thought—oh, hell. I was scared. I thought it would blow over. I thought they’d quit looking at him because, hell, he didn’t kill the man. And when it got bad, I was afraid of what would happen to me, and I just kept hoping it would go away.”

I cringe a bit. I don’t like what he did, but I understand it.

“Did you go there planning to kill him?”

“No. I went there to ask him about those blackmail photos. The ones of you that Jackson told me about. Bastard sneered at me. He even pulled one out to show me.” He lifts a shoulder. “That’s when I lost it. I picked up that damn statue, and I went after him.”

“Did you tell your attorney?” I ask. “About seeing the photo? Because what we heard after you confessed was that you were basically killing him to make things easier on Jackson. But if he provoked you, then surely that will come into play when you’re negotiating the plea.”

“I’m not going to say a word about those photos. You think I want those things out in the world? As it stands, nobody else knows, right?”

I nod. Harriet knows about the blackmail, but she’d learned it in the course of representing her client, and wouldn’t say a word. Not only that, but as far as she knows, Reed’s copies of the photos are still missing.

“I’m staying silent,” my dad says again. “I’m not going to make it worse for you than I already have.”

“Daddy.” I blink, realizing that my eyes have filled with tears.

He starts to reach for me, but has to stop because of the cuffs. “Oh, hell, honey. Did I screw up that bad? Did I destroy you?”

“I—” I close my mouth because I don’t know what to say. Yes? No? Sometimes I feel ripped to pieces? Sometimes I’m okay?

I choose to stay silent, and he just sighs.

“I fucked up, Sylvia, I did. And I know I hurt you, but look at you. You’re so damn strong. Look at everything you’ve done. At all you’ve become. You’re smart and you’re poised and you go after what you want. And I think that’s the only reason I can stand my life right now. Because I know that despite what I did to you, that you were strong enough not to let me destroy you.”

He draws in a deep breath. “Jackson’s a good man. I wanted to hurt the fucker for rubbing my nose in the truth. But I’m glad he did it. You deserve a man who’ll protect you. God knows it wasn’t your father. Least not until I killed that bastard.”

It’s only when a fat tear lands on the metal table that I realize I’ve been crying. “Daddy,” I say, but then I have to stop, because I can’t get any more words out. After I calm myself and breathe a little, I try again. “Daddy, you have to tell them about the blackmail. They need to know you acted in a moment of passion. That’s got to be important.”

“Hell, no.”

“Then I’ll release the pictures to the press and I’ll tell the cops myself.” Even as I say the words, I know that I mean them. For years, I’ve been scared of those damn photos. Of the past they represent. Of the shame. But I’m tired of giving them power. Hell, I’m tired of giving Reed power.

Jackson’s right—I know how to fight my nightmares. And the way to do it is by ripping the last bit of control from Reed’s hands.

“No, honey, no. I already worked out a nice deal. A good deal. We pleaded down. No premeditation. Three years at most.”

He’s right, I know. That is a good deal. But it could be better if I turn over the photos.

But when I suggest it, my dad steadfastly shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly as he meets my eyes.

“Why not? I can handle it. And if we just turn them over to the prosecutor, they might even seal them.”

“Maybe you can, and maybe they would, but I want to do that time.”

I blink, confused. “What? Why?”

“I owe you, Elle,” he says softly, calling me by the name I stopped using when Reed started touching me.

“Being in a cage doesn’t change anything.”

His smile is infinitely sad. “Maybe not. But it makes me feel better.”

The guard raps on the window, signaling time.

“I don’t know if I can truly forgive you, Daddy,” I say as the guard opens the door and starts to walk toward my dad. “But I think maybe I want to try.”