“I was always afraid of her anger,” he said. “It was easier to let her have her way, to keep the peace.”

He stepped closer and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“But looking at you now, building this company, I realize what a coward I’ve been,” he said.

“You aren’t a coward, Dad,” I said.

“I was,” he said, his voice cracking. “I let her try to erase who you were.”

He pointed to the box of journals.

“That is who you are, Sarah,” he said. “Don’t let her take Solar Reach away from you.”

He looked back toward the intersection where he had parked his car.

“I have to go before she notices I’m not at the hotel,” he said. “But use the files on that drive.”

“I will,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He turned and walked quickly down the sidewalk, his figure dissolving into the gray fog.

I stood on the steps for a long time, holding the box against my chest.

The cardboard was cold, but it felt grounded and real.