Chapter 12
Daniel finally turned on Richard.
Not for me.
Not yet.
For Lily.
“Why the chain?”
Richard rolled his eyes.
“We’ve covered this.”
“No.”
Daniel stood.
“You told me to keep her on the porch.”
“Yes.”
“You never said chain her.”
“She kept walking toward the windows.”
“She wanted food.”
“She wanted attention.”
“She was three.”
Richard’s face hardened.
“And?”
Daniel stopped.
That word.
He had heard it his whole life too.
Pain dismissed.
Fear mocked.
Obedience demanded.
Richard stepped closer.
“You cried worse than she did.”
Daniel stared.
“I what?”
“As a boy.”
Margaret looked away.
Richard smiled.
“You used to beg your mother to let you inside when you were punished.”
Daniel’s face drained.
“You locked me outside?”
“Sometimes.”
“In winter?”
“You survived.”
Margaret whispered:
“Richard.”
He laughed.
“Don’t pretend now.”
Daniel looked at her.
“You knew?”
She started crying.
Richard sighed with contempt.
“Both of you. Tears.”
He looked at the capos.
“This is what softness produces.”
Daniel stared at his father.
Then at Lily.
The chain around her wrist.
The floor.
The food.
Same system.
Different generation.
“I became you.”
Richard smiled.
“Finally something worth saying.”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“No.”
The smile faded.
“I became you.”
He sounded disgusted.
Richard stepped forward.
“Don’t be weak now because Emma embarrassed you.”
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“You told me she was humiliating me for five years.”
“She was.”
“No.”
He looked around at the capos.
“None of them were laughing.”
Nobody answered.
Exactly.
Daniel looked back.
“You were.”
That landed.
Richard’s face twisted.
He raised his hand.
Not toward Daniel.
Toward Lily.
Pointing.
“Everything fell apart because of that child.”
I moved.
Daniel moved faster.
He stepped between his father and his daughter.
“No.”
One word.
Late.
But real.
Richard stared at him.
“You choose her?”
Daniel looked at Lily.
She hid partly behind me.
He swallowed.
“I should have before.”
No forgiveness followed.
Lily did not run to him.
May you like
She did not have to.
Daniel finally understood remorse did not create entitlement.
