Chapter 7 - JOSEPHINE AND THE HORSE
The rocking horse mattered to Josephine more than the house.
Children have better priorities.
Two days after Christmas, she asked:
“Can we fix it?”
I looked at the broken piece on my workbench.
“Maybe.”
“All of it?”
“I don’t have all of it.”
Most remained at my parents’ house.
Police? No.
Silas had not filed a criminal complaint yet.
He had bruising but no fracture.
My attorney advised me to send a written apology and preserve video if any existed.
I did.
Silas responded through counsel.
No immediate charge.
That felt almost more threatening.
I asked Robert through Naomi to preserve the broken horse as potential sentimental property.
He replied:
TRASH DISPOSED.
Josephine cried when I told her.
Then I received a text from one of my cousins.
I SAVED PIECES.
My cousin Daniel had quietly collected the broken horse after we left.
He dropped them at my townhouse.
Josephine arranged them across the living-room floor like an archaeological excavation.
Under one broken panel, we found a small brass plate.
Not secret documents.
Nothing cinematic.
Three engraved lines.
FOR BENNETT
KEEP RIDING
— GRANDDAD
Josephine traced the letters.
“Mommy didn’t put that there?”
“No.”
“Your grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“Did he love you?”
I thought.
“In his way.”
“That sounds bad.”
I laughed.
“Sometimes adults love badly.”
She looked at me.
“Like Grandpa Robert?”
Maybe.
“I think Grandpa loves us.”
“Then why?”
The eternal question.
“Love doesn’t automatically make somebody kind.”
She sat with that.
Then:
“Can the horse be mine again?”
“Yes.”
We found a woodworker.
Not to restore it perfectly.
Josephine chose to leave one marker scribble visible.
“Why?”
“So I know what happened.”
May you like
Her decision.
Not mine.
