Damon shoved his chair back.
“You’re giving everything to her because she made me look bad.”
Grandpa said, “No. I am trusting her because you made yourself clear.”
Mom tried to defend him.
“Damon was upset. He didn’t mean to hurt Jasmine.”
Grandpa looked at her.
“He did mean it. And you nodded.”
Then he looked at my father.
“And you looked away.”
Dad’s shoulders sank.
For years, he had called his silence “keeping the peace.” But silence that protects cruelty is not peace. It is a choice.
Grandpa told Damon he owed me an apology.
Damon stared at me. For one second, I thought he might say it.
Instead, he grabbed his jacket.
“You’ll regret this.”
Grandpa answered quietly, “No. I would have regretted rewarding this.”
Damon left. No one followed.
Later, Grandpa walked with me to the preserved corner of the old workshop. The scarred workbench was still there. So was the faded Callaway Works sign.
