His answer came immediately.
“No.”
That surprised me.
He stepped closer.
“You’re the only person who never did.”
My throat tightened.
“You used to tell me I could do anything if I would stop acting like I didn’t care.”
I remembered saying that.
Many times.
Usually while standing in the kitchen with Grant sitting across from me after another bad decision.
“You told me I was better than the way I was behaving,” he continued. “Even when I didn’t believe you.”
I swallowed.
“I said it because I didn’t want you becoming like your father.”
Silence.
The words hung between us.
Grant’s eyes became glassy.
He nodded slowly.
“I know.”
For years, I had wondered whether those conversations had gone in one ear and out the other.
Apparently they hadn’t.
Grant touched the badge on his chest.
“That’s part of why I did this.”
“You became a police officer because of your father?”
“No.”
He looked directly at me.
“I became one because I wanted to prove I didn’t have to disappear when things got hard.”
Something in my chest cracked open.
Grant’s voice became quieter.
“I wanted to show you that I’m not him.”
Then he smiled faintly, though his eyes were wet.
“And… I wanted you to be proud of me.”
All my anger did not vanish.
But suddenly it had to share space with something else.
Pride.
I reached toward him and touched the badge.
It was cool beneath my fingertips.
