“Daddy, was I bad for going to Owen’s house?”
It nearly broke me. I kissed her forehead. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing.”
She thought for a moment. “Is Owen bad too?”
I was careful with my answer. “Owen is a little boy, just like you’re a little girl. His dad made some very wrong choices. That doesn’t make Owen the same as his dad.”
She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “Then I don’t want to hate him.”
I sat on the edge of her bed long after she fell asleep. I was so angry at Gregory Hale I could barely think straight. And my seven-year-old, who still woke up crying from nightmares, had just decided not to carry that anger at all.
