But I had never seen how sadness settled around his eyes.
Or how guilt could change a man's entire expression.
"Dr. Harris showed me the records," I said.
Nigel went still.
"What records?"
"The ones from my childhood."
His face drained of color.
I held up the report.
"The second injury. The chemical exposure. My father's signature."
He closed his eyes.
"Sarah..."
"Did you know?"
He didn't answer.
My heart began breaking all over again.
"Nigel, did you know?"
"Not everything."
"That wasn't my question."
He sat down heavily.
"I discovered that something was wrong with the records several years ago."
I stared at him.
"Several years?"
"I was reviewing your medical history to see whether newer surgical techniques could help restore your vision."
"And you found this?"
"I found inconsistencies. Missing treatment notes. Conflicting descriptions of the injury."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
His voice broke.
"Because I couldn't prove what had happened."
