“For what?”
He laughed bitterly.
“For thirty years.”
I waited.
“I knew Dad treated you differently.”
My eyes stayed on the horizon.
“I knew.”
“I just pretended I didn't.”
“That was easier.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“I thought being the favorite meant I had won.”
I finally looked at him.
“And now?”
“Now I realize Dad wasn't giving me love.”
He paused.
“He was giving me excuses.”
That sentence hurt more than anything else.
Because it was true.
Dad had spent decades telling Brandon he was special.
But instead of teaching him responsibility, he had taught him that consequences were negotiable.
And he had spent decades telling me I was strong.
As if being strong meant I didn't deserve the same protection.
Brandon looked down at his hands.
“When you walked onto that ship, I wanted to embarrass you.”
“I know.”
“I wanted everyone to think you were just my annoying older sister.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“But when Captain Reynolds said those five words…”
He smiled sadly.
“My commanding officer.”
I nodded.
“That was the first time I realized how much of your life I had refused to see.”
I stood.
“Then don't waste the lesson.”
He nodded.
“I won't.”
PART 8
Two months later, the final report was released.
General Hale was formally charged.
The contractor lost its government contracts.
Several officials were disciplined.
My father's involvement was investigated separately.
He wasn't charged with the larger corruption scheme, but his unauthorized interference and attempts to shield Brandon were documented.
He lost the last honorary advisory position he held with a military veterans' organization.
And Brandon?
He requested reassignment.
No special recommendation.
No family phone calls.
No favors.
He wanted to earn his next position without Dad's shadow hanging over him.
The day he left San Diego, he came to see me.
He stood at attention.
I almost laughed.
“Relax.”
He didn't.
“I wanted to say goodbye properly.”
“You could just say goodbye.”
“I know.”
He lowered his hands.
“I'm still learning.”
I smiled.
“That's a good start.”
Then he handed me a small box.
Inside was an old photograph.
It was from when we were children.
I was standing beside Dad wearing an oversized military cap.
Brandon was next to me, holding a toy rifle.
On the back, Dad had written:
MY TWO FUTURE SOLDIERS.
I stared at it for a long time.
“I found it in the attic,” Brandon said.
“I thought you might want it.”
I closed the box.
“Thank you.”
