I wasn't quite sure where to begin praising this heartbreakingly beautiful story, but I think I've decided on mood, since that's what's haunted me since I first read it. It's a brilliant idea to write this from Helen's perspective, and you drew this bright, reactive young woman with precision and sensitivity, yet by removing her narration chronologically from the events you give her the ability to shape the narrative and how its event affected her. How sad and yet how inevitable that the sins (of omission or otherwise) of her father have subsumed her own existence. It all feels so gloriously Ibsenian that even though this isn't clearly set at any time, it feels like a winter night in a cold place. My heart broke a bit when Sherlock talked about piecing together the night where he killed John, even though he can't remember it. John's visiting Mary and Sherlock feels real as you fill it with sensual details as much as it's an emotional hurricane. You have such a sure and deft hand with style and the shape of this narrative, slowly introducing the child, the teen and finally, the woman, coming to terms with the actions that made her who she is. I am in complete awe, Mystery Author. Thank you for this complicated, absolutely stunningly-written piece. I adored every word! Bravissimaaaa!!!!