Adele placed a hand on my arm. “Please, Dad. Let me handle it.”
“You don’t know what that box will do.”
“I know what her lie is already doing.”
“Please, Dad. Let me handle it.”
I studied my daughter. I could still see the girl on the stairs, but she wasn’t a child anymore.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Use it only if she lies.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then it stays closed.”
That felt fair.
“Use it only if she lies.”
The box sat where it always had, tucked behind old papers and an unused blanket. I lifted it down with both hands and brought it back to her.
“There,” I said, placing it on the table. “Fifteen years.”
On the day of the wedding, I was awake before the sun rose.
I stood in a small room struggling with my tie when Jerome walked in.
