We didn’t have the house, or the money, but this knowledge was my inheritance. His mistakes, ironically, had become my saving graces. In this way, I could never cast him as worthless, I could never say good riddance, because that would be writing off myself, too. And I wasn’t going to be doing that anymore. I couldn’t erase my past, but I could try and reconcile it with who I wanted to be.

And Gregory, for his part, had helped set me on this path. It was Gregory, years ago, who had caught me one day in the office watching a clip of Miles early in his Senate run. I’d felt energized then, as I listened to him rally for systemic change, and also reason, decency, the wisdom of an evolving majority.

Gregory had seen it. Go work for him, my father had said. Go on. You’re fired.

At the time, I’d taken this as an act of selflessness. Gregory was letting me go, not because he wanted to, but because he could see I needed it.

Now, looking back, I questioned whether he had also been trying to protect me from the scandal; he had to have known it would eventually be exposed. He’d certainly started stepping out on Cricket by that point. And the stealing had already started. I wondered if he’d wanted me not to see. I would never get answers to these questions, but I could use them to help me forgive, and to nurture gratitude for all that had transpired. Because even though I wasn’t working for Miles anymore, I was still undeniably grateful to be one of his many true believers.

That’s where Atlas found me as I sat on the staged twin bed and studied the new closet doors—nice quality, heavy, paneled on the outside with mercury glass. He said hello, and I turned. He looked rumpled, a bit rough around the edges, but otherwise himself. “What do you make of it?” he asked me. He was nervous; he had both hands in his pockets, one jiggling spare change.

I smiled, determined to keep it, no matter how much this conversation would pain me. “I’m a little jarred,” I said. “This room also looks smaller than it did before. Which doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“You’re coming into it with fresh eyes,” he replied. He removed the strap of his computer bag from his shoulder, lowered it to the foot of the bed. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for weeks. I kept putting it off because I’ve been out of town. I also convinced myself I needed to see you in person to say what needs to be said. I’m not sure if that’s totally fair, though. The truth is, I’ve been putting this off because I’m absolutely chicken.”