maybe I had been a monster too. I thought of this feeling I had, the feeling that I had abandoned my children simply by drinking. My children who still loved me, who loved me no matter what. I was, in a way, more like Fred than like Sam: loved despite my flaws. Unfairly loved. Undeservedly loved. What do we do about the terrible people we love? That question comes with another question nestled inside it: how awful can we be, before people stop loving us?
