He stared at me for what must have been ten seconds. And then, in a voice I had not heard from him since we were children, he said, "Why didn't anyone tell me?" I said, "Grant, we've been telling you for years. With our absences. With our excuses. With our suggestions about getting them evaluated. Mom, Denise, me, Aunt Jen — we've all tried. You and Emma have been convinced that the rest of the family is the problem. That we're too sensitive, too controlling, too old-fashioned. So we stopped telling you. And we started disappearing." He said, "I don't know what to do." And I told him — this is the part that I think, later, he was most angry about — "I don't know either. But I know that your kids are eight, seven, and four, and Juniper has started hiding behind an iPad at every family gathering because she has figured out, at four years old, that it is safer to be invisible than to participate in whatever is happening in your house. And that is the thing that has broken my heart, Grant. Not Ollie biting my daughter. Juniper sitting alone."