“Why did you lie to him? You saved me.”
“You were just a tiny little girl hiding in a fallen tree,” he tells me, his eyes full of sympathy as he sits down on the foot of the bed. “I didn’t like that he was killing the boys, but I couldn’t hand over a little girl, especially one we didn’t even know about.”
“Did you help kill my brothers?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“No, I tried to talk him out of it,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I didn’t help him, but I didn’t stop him either. The boy's murders have always haunted me. I’m not proud of the choices I made then.”
“Dad, it was my fault,” I whisper, feeling crushed by guilt.
“Molly, it wasn’t. Nothing was your fault,” he says, moving to sit by me at the head of the bed. He gently takes my hand in his and squeezes. He realize
