“Do you regret it?” I ask, my voice cracking as I fight the sudden dryness in my mouth. I think of eighteen-year-old Sara, innocent, free, a whole world ahead of her, at the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong man. “And don’t quote scripture from the Bible or justify your actions in any way. Yes or no. Do you regret it?” My voice rises with reserved anger. “Yes,” he says, so simply, final, that I believe him. “I do.”
