He didn’t know whether he was kidding himself or not, maybe letting himself believe that man no longer existed because he couldn’t bear to be alive in this man’s skin. He touched his face. His jowls were sagging. He vaguely remembered his father’s face looking a bit like this, although the eyes were different. He remembered his father’s expression as more dissolute. He’d been such a bastard, his father, but as much as he’d hated him and as hard as he’d tried to be different, he’d turned out just like him. There wasn’t a day of his life when he didn’t relive what he’d done to Amelia or remember the hate and rage on Marcus’s face when he’d come into his room. There were days when he could deal with it, and then there were other times, like tonight, when he wished he’d never lived through the beating. He heard a sound behind him. He didn’t have to look to know it was Carolyn. When she came up behind him, he saw the tears in her eyes. He hated it when she cried.
