“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I said. “I won’t get it.” “That don’t mean I won’t enjoy hearing you ask. Make it good and I might let you in.” I stood on a precipice with only the dimmest idea of how important it was: not just to the case, but to myself as a human being. I felt the kind of fear I should have felt a year ago, looking down from a seven-story building. But this time I had to step forward. Some part of me had grown enough to know I wouldn’t shatter, even if it felt like I would. “I want forgiveness,” I said.
