I raised my 7 grandchildren alone after their parents’ funeral — 10 years later, my youngest granddaughter handed me a box and whispered, “Grandma, Mom and Dad didn’t die that night.”

My son has asked to see the children, but I told him that any contact would have to happen on their terms, with proper support for the younger ones.

I haven’t promised him forgiveness.

Miles and I are trying to repair the trust his secret damaged. I know he was manipulated as a frightened teenager, but we’ve both needed time to talk about the years that followed.

As for Romy, she’s stopped spending so much time alone in the basement.

A few evenings ago, I found her in the living room holding an old family photograph.

It showed Silas, Bree, and all seven children gathered around a birthday cake.

“Grandma,” she asked, “do you still love Dad?”

I sat beside her.

“He’s my son,” I answered. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving him. But I’m very hurt by what he did.”

She looked at the photograph again.