Chapter 10
Patrick asked to see his grandson.
I said no.
He cried.
I still said no.
“You’re punishing me.”
“No.”
I looked at him across my kitchen.
“I’m protecting Finn.”
“I would never hurt him.”
I stared.
He stopped.
Good.
Language matters.
He had already hurt him.
Not severely.
Enough.
He removed a safety clip from a toddler’s harness to make a political point.
Love did not cancel that.
“I didn’t think he’d fall hard.”
“That isn’t protection.”
“He barely fell.”
“That isn’t protection.”
“Brielle pulled his foot harder than I expected.”
“That isn’t protection.”
Patrick covered his face.
Finally.
No excuses left.
Then:
“I miss him.”
I believed that.
“Good.”
He looked up.
“That sounds cruel.”
“No.”
I leaned back.
“Missing someone is a consequence of losing access to them.”
He cried harder.
I did not enjoy it.
I also did not solve it.
Finn eventually asked:
“Grandpa climbing?”
Children remember strange fragments.
“No.”
“Grandpa home?”
“Yes.”
“See?”
I paused.
“Not today.”
Finn shrugged and drove a toy truck across the floor.
His world did not collapse.
Adults often project their hunger for reconciliation onto children.
Finn missed Patrick sometimes.
He also moved on to juice.
Both could be true.
Three months later, Finn asked again.
This time I considered it.
Meeting in our garden.
No climbing club.
No equipment.
Patrick stood far away until Finn ran toward him.
Then stopped halfway.
Looked at me.
I nodded.
Finn continued.
Patrick crouched.
Did not touch until Finn did.
Good.
They hugged.
For three seconds.
Then Finn ran off.
Patrick stared after him.
“That’s all?”
“For today.”
May you like
He nodded.
Progress begins when people stop treating access as their birthright.
