“I’m sorry.” His voice is low but strained, and when he glances at me, I see the regret. “I thought he was chaining me to him, and I resented you—everything about you. But I’m starting to realize that’s what he wanted. He never wanted us to think of you as a gift.” He rests his hand on top of mine and gives it a squeeze. “But you were, Red. You were a gift. And that’s what this is. Remember that.”
