Martina looked up at me, her eyes asking for permission, searching my face for what to do.

I looked at my father, kneeling on the floor, stripped of all his pride and all his power.

For months, I had felt nothing but anger toward him.

I had hated him for his blindness, for his weakness, and for the way he had let Patricia treat us.

But looking at him now, I did not see the powerful billionaire who ruled his company with an iron fist.

I saw a grieving, flawed man who had made a terrible mistake and was finally waking up to the cost of it.

I let go of Martina’s shoulder.

Martina took a step forward and threw her arms around our father’s neck.

My father let out a ragged sob and wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her close to his chest.

He buried his face in her hair, rocking her gently as he cried.

“I am sorry, I am so sorry,” he murmured over and over again into her hair.

Rosa walked over to them and placed a gentle, comforting hand on my father’s shoulder.