I lie to Jarod. So automatically. So easily. My life is about denial. Deny that there’s anything wrong with the Centre. Deny that I had any reason to suspect they had brought in the children on false pretenses. Deny that over time my heart began to incline toward my young charge. Deny the fear that comes with every thought of emotional attachment. Science is all I need. It is pure, pristine. It protects me from having to feel. No, Jarod. I can’t feel a father’s love for someone who is not my son. Lie to him. It’s easier that way.