He stopped, looked at Claire, then at my parents, and finally back to me.

“You have a command to run, Emily,” he said. “Let’s get this resolved.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

The door closed behind him, leaving a heavy silence in the office.

My mother took another step forward.

Her fingers clutched her leather handbag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Emily,” she said, her voice cracking. “Please. Look at me.”

I turned my head slightly, keeping my posture rigid.

The air conditioning unit in the wall rattled, blowing cold, dry air across my neck.

“I am looking at you, Mother,” I said.

A tear escaped her eye, leaving a wet trail through her makeup.

“We didn’t know,” she whispered. “We honestly didn’t know he was capable of this.”

“You didn’t want to know,” I said.

My father cleared his throat, his shoulders slumped forward.

He looked ten years older than he had when we arrived this morning.

“She is right, Eleanor,” my father said, his voice flat and tired. “We didn’t want to look.”

He walked over to my mother, placing a trembling hand on her shoulder.