[ The muscles in his jaw clench. He's quiet a moment, then responds in a low voice: ]

My father didn't want anything for me. There was no point at which he cared. That's the thing. If he'd accused me of raping Nadine because he was truly frightened for her, or even because he wanted me to hurt - But he didn't. He didn't even care. He decided what I was the day I was born, and spent the next seventeen years laying the case out to me. He'd have made an excellent lawyer, my father. Presenting evidence, every day, utterly indifferent, always completely calm. So no - he didn't want anything for me, no more than he had ambitions for the wart on his little finger.