Chapter 19

I think, in delicate situations like this, the word is compromised. I was compromised. The mission was compromised. I hadn’t spoke to anyone about my father for decades; perhaps not even since it had happened. My mother, bless her, was a strong woman and had kept her tears to the times when I could not see her. I had heard her crying through the walls, but somehow, even at that age, I knew she was trying to protect me. We had been close—are close—and what happened on that unassuming November...