David rebuilt outside DeLuca.
Smaller.
Cleaner.
He stopped hosting red-room conversations.
Stopped using Emma’s name.
Stopped presenting marriage as rank.
Years later he told me:
“I thought being your son-in-law meant I was becoming something.”
I answered:
“You were already something.”
He looked confused.
That was the tragedy.
He had wanted borrowed scale because his own felt insufficient.
Not excuse.
Understanding.
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