I wondered if I had ever done anything to justify my mother’s fear. There were no such memories, but how could I be sure there weren’t horrible thoughts repressed behind the barriers of my tortured conscience? In the sealed-off passageways, beyond blind alleys, that I would never see. Possibly I will never know. Whatever the truth is, I must not hate [her] for protecting [herself]. I must understand the way she saw it. Unless I forgive her, I will have nothing.