A Suitcase of Promises: How I Sold My Father’s Hope for Peace

Every day.”

My wife stood up. “He had dementia. He didn’t understand time.”

“No,” I said, and the anger surprised me because it wasn’t aimed at her—it was aimed at myself, and it had nowhere else to go. “He understood trust.”

That word hung between us like smoke.

My wife’s voice got softer, which was worse. “You want to rewrite the past, David. You want continue reading …