I wanted to demand an explanation.
I wanted to ask how he could destroy the one possession he knew meant so much to me.
But I promised Claire I wouldn’t contact him.
She explained that we still had a final hearing concerning the remaining financial assets later that week.
The damage might be relevant.
So I followed her instructions.
I walked through every room recording video.
I narrated the date, the time, and the damage I found.
When I reached the mirror, I couldn’t speak.
I simply held the camera above the broken pieces.
For several seconds, the recording captured nothing but my breathing.
My father arrived before I finished documenting everything.
I hadn’t called him.
Claire had.
Dad was sixty-eight, a retired electrician with large, scarred hands and a quiet manner.
He’d spent decades repairing wiring, fuse boxes, and old household systems.
He was the kind of man who rarely raised his voice.
