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“What's wrong?”

I kept eating, hoping she'd let it go. “Nothing's wrong.”

“Graham.”

The way she said my name made it clear she wasn't buying my bullshit. I set down my spoon and met her gaze.

“I was thinking about my dad.”

“When's the last time you talked to him?”

“I don't know.”

“I don’t buy that.”

My fist clenched next to my plate, and she covered it with her much smaller hand. “Can you tell me?”

“I called him when I left the Navy. That’s been it.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time, so I took a chance and looked up into her eyes. She had a tender look on her face. “So four years?”

I nodded. “I couldn’t tell him about Africa,” I whispered.

“About the mission that went wrong?”

I nodded.

“So, you haven't told him about the worst thing that ever happened to you?” Her voice went soft. “And you've been carrying that alone for four years?”

“Not alone. You know I’ve talked to Simon about it.”

“But not your father.”

“He's a colonel, Joy. He spent his entire career in leadership positions. He understands the weight of command. The responsibility.”

“Which means he'd understand better than anyone what you went through.”

I shook my head. “He'd see it as a failure. I was supposed to bring my team home alive.”

“You brought Kent home.”

“I was supposed to bring them all home.”

Her hand tightened on my fist. “Graham, look at me.”

I reluctantly met her eyes.

“Do you think my parents love me less because I didn't tell them about London right away?”

“That's different.”

“How is it different?”

“Because you're their daughter. They love you unconditionally.”

“And you're his son.” Her grip on my hand tightened. “Do you really think your father's love comes with conditions? That he'll stop caring about you because you survived a mission that killed good men?”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I'd never thought of it that way.