“We tried.”
“Tried?”
“She was difficult.” His voice cracked. “Wild. Angry.”
“A sleepy suburban rebellion or something worse?”
Mom winced.
“We sent her to private schools. Therapists. She burned through all of it.”
Dad looked toward the window.
“When she was seventeen, she found out about the witness protection.”
“What part?”
“That her father was the informant. That we took her in to protect her from the people he exposed.”
“And she hated you for it.”
“She hated everyone,” Mom said. “Including you.”
That hit harder than I expected.
“Why would she hate me?”
“Because you had the life she wanted. The company. The name. The future.”
“And she had a shadow identity that could never come into the light.”
Dad turned back to me.
“We hid her for nineteen years. We gave her every resource except visibility. We thought that was love.”
