“There is something that I thought would’ve made a difference—but it was never that.” “Yeah?” my dad frowns. “Yeah.” Farrow takes a beat. “I’ve been wishing I could give you the slam-dunk: the reason you’d actually feel like shit for ever hating Donnelly, but I couldn’t. Because I love that motherfucker, and when he tells me not to say shit to you, I don’t say shit to you, but you need to ask him. At some point. You need him to tell you everything he’s done.”
