It’s this secret knowledge whose existence has been corroding my insides for the past few hours now: If I didn’t know who Adam Wright was and what he was capable of in the past, if I hadn’t lived twenty years with the scars his despicable crime had left not just on my brother but my entire family, if he was a random, dashing hero whose presence of mind and extreme generosity and stunning home and overall concern for my welfare represented the extent of my knowledge of him, then let me tell you this: I would be swooning right now. Swooning. Hard.
