“Hi, Dad.” Harry pulled up a visitor’s chair and sat next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

It was the usual response from his father. But his demeanor seemed calmer.

“I brought you something.” Harry handed a photo frame to his father.

His dad held it up to the light. It was a picture of Salma from his parents’ wedding day. Her dark eyes were bright, her lips bold, her beautiful thick hair coiled into a heavy chignon under the veil.

This was the second wedding. It had been arranged by Mel’s parents, several weeks after the ceremony in India. The photo of Salma had been on Mel’s bureau ever since their wedding, until today.

He closed his eyes, his hands holding the framed photo that lay in his lap. His face worked.

“Dad,” Harry said, his voice low. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distress you.”

Mel opened his eyes. “I can feel her here, Harry.”

“Me, too.” He took a deep breath. “Dad, I’m leaving politics.”

“No, Harry, you can’t do that.” But there was hope in his father’s face. “Why are you leaving?”

Because I can’t live the lie one more day.

Pain welled in his chest. Harry knew deep in his heart that Rob would say good-bye after what had happened. The near loss of life put everyone’s priorities into perspective.

For Rob, it was his family.

For Harry, it was his family. But Harry’s family was his father. That was all he had left.

This wrecked man.

Who had done his best for Harry, over and over again.

“I’m leaving because it’s time, Dad.” It wasn’t exactly true. He was in hot water with the Prime Minister, but his actions to stop the terrorist attack had lifted him out of the depths of public depredation. His career might just be salvageable. “I want to live in Halifax.” That didn’t exactly ring true, but he tried.

“Harry.” His father reached over and took Harry’s hand. Harry was surprised at the strength of his father’s grip. “I know what you’re doing, but you can’t give up your career.”

“I have to, Dad,” Harry’s voice was choked.

“Why?”

And then the secret that had brought him home just a few days ago could be contained no longer. “Dad… I’m gay.”

Mel looked at him. Then he gazed down at the picture of his wife. “That’s why you came home early. To tell Salma.”

“Yes.” Harry knelt by his father’s chair. “Do you think she would have given me her blessing?”

His father stared into his dead wife’s eyes. “She loved you, Harry.”

A shuddering sigh escaped from somewhere in the deepest, most locked place of Harry’s heart. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“It’s not your fault, Harry.”

“Dad, it is my fault.”