"Why did your father hang himself?" Jon asked me once.

"It was an accident," I said, not knowing what else my mother had told him. She was bitter and hateful and lied.

Jon never asked about the stories my father would tell me, or the boys I dated in high school, or who popped my cherry. Of course I wouldn't have told him. Nor did I tell him about the man who still watches me.

Oddly enough, the man who probably loved me the most was my grandfather.