Mom’s letter continued.
“Your father loves you.
He is also very capable of being foolish.
Both things can be true.”
Dad gave a small, defeated laugh.
“I walked into that one.”
I continued.
“I hope, when the right moment comes, you will give him the opportunity to know you better.
Not because he has earned every detail.
Not because you owe anyone proof of your worth.
But because being known is one of the gifts families can still learn to give one another, even late.”
I stopped reading.
There were still several paragraphs.
But my eyes had blurred.
I placed the letter down.
Madison reached across the table and rested her fingers against mine.
Nobody spoke until Dad said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
Not the quick apology people offer when they want discomfort to end.
He took his time.
“I’m sorry I made Ethan’s service a standard the rest of you had to measure against.”
Ethan looked at him.
“And I’m sorry I turned your accomplishments into something that belonged to me.”
Dad faced him.
“You earned what you earned.
I just…”
He searched for the words.
“After you left the Army, I think I kept talking about Captain Bennett because I didn’t know what else to praise.”
Ethan’s expression shifted.
“I thought you were disappointed that I got out.”
“I was surprised.”
“You asked me for three years when I was going back.”
“I know.”
“That sounded like disappointment.”
Dad nodded slowly.
“I suppose it did.”
Ethan looked at his mug.
“I left because I wanted another life.”
“I know that now.”
“I’m happy, Dad.”
Ethan worked in civil engineering and had recently become engaged to a woman named Rachel.
“I know,” Dad repeated.
“Do you?”
The question hung there.
Dad considered it.
“Maybe I’m learning.”
Madison looked at me.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you happy?”
I almost gave the automatic answer.
Fine.
Busy.
Good.
Instead, I looked at Mom’s letter.
“Sometimes.”
Madison waited.
“I love my work,” I continued.
“But I’ve spent so much time being useful that I’m not sure I’ve been very good at building a life outside it.”
