“I was sixteen years old. My father was my hero. He coached my baseball team. He helped me with my homework. He came to every game.”
“When Sloane stepped forward, it seemed impossible.” The next words sounded physically painful. “So I made her the villain.”
Silence.
“I wasn’t the only one.” His laughter was humorless. “The whole town did it.”
I thought of Sloane standing in the bakery, scared and cautious, looking over her shoulder before answering a simple question. Suddenly, it all made sense.
“Did you ever apologize?”
The answer surprised me. Not because I thought he lacked desire, but because I assumed guilt would have driven him to do it years ago.
“I tried it once.” He rubbed his forehead. “I went to his house. I sat in my truck for almost an hour.”
“What happened?”
