‘I’m forgiving you, Dad. I have to go on with my life now.’ There was nothing else to say. It was harder than I had ever imagined it would be to...let go of that letter, to face the fear that without anger to hold me together, I wouldn’t know how to define myself. Anger at him, at them, had fueled me for so long, I was afraid I would disappear without it, as though its weight didn’t hold me back but kept me grounded in this world. I lingered for a moment, remembering all the night he had come in. Themothers looked at their sons.Martin was a smallish boy, with messy brown hair and piercing blue eyes;his clothes were usually a black pair of jeans with several rips andtears and a red T-Shirt with one sleeve torn off and the other torn offjust before the shoulder. You usually never saw him without a toothpickin his mouth, as he insisted it make him look cool. His friends looked like they came from all kinds of backgrounds.Louis Fisher was a large kid in terms of height, and he looked more. More

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