Chapter 10
My father apologized to Linnea.
Poorly.
She told me later.
He visited the country property with permission.
Important.
He stood in the servants’ garden and said:
“I regret the discomfort.”
Terrible.
Linnea apparently stared until he became uncomfortable.
Excellent.
Then she asked:
“Do you regret asking me to crawl?”
Benedict tried three different answers.
None worked.
Finally:
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He said:
“Because Cillian took it badly.”
Linnea shook her head.
“Wrong.”
My father told me that part himself.
Angry.
“She lectured me.”
“You deserved it.”
He glared.
Then admitted he returned the next day.
Tried again.
This time:
“I asked you to humiliate yourself because I wanted to prove something to my son. I treated you like an object in an argument that wasn’t yours.”
Better.
Linnea accepted the apology.
Not forgiveness.
She told him:
“Don’t do it again to someone else.”
He said:
“I won’t.”
That promise mattered more.
My father changed slowly after that.
Not soft.
Never.
But he stopped using staff as demonstrations.
Once, an old captain shouted at a server during dinner.
Benedict told him to leave.
I heard about it afterward.
He never mentioned it.
May you like
Good.
Changed behavior without audience is the most convincing kind.
