He had also realized that his sons had been protected from inconvenience while Abigail had been treated as disposable.
The next morning, he came to my house.
He brought breakfast and sat at my kitchen table without trying to defend anyone.
Abigail wandered in wearing pajamas and stopped when she saw him.
Her first question was about her cousins.
“Are they mad at me because I got sick?”
My brother’s face changed.
He crouched so he was closer to her eye level.
“No, sweetheart. They’re not mad at you.”
She asked whether Grandma and Grandpa were.
He looked at me before answering.
I gave him a small nod.
“They made a bad choice,” he said. “A really bad one. That was not because of you.”
Abigail touched one strap of her purple backpack, which she had brought into the kitchen for no reason other than she still wanted it close.
