“Meaning won’t pay rent, buy groceries, or pay the utility bill.” He looked at his hands, which were rough and calloused despite the pressed shirts. “I worked construction after I graduated because my father couldn’t keep the lights on.”
“I’m not”
“Meaning won’t pay rent, buy groceries, or pay the utility bill.”
“I swore to myself,” David raised his voice to speak over Leo, “that my son would never have to feel that kind of weight.”
“I’m not scared of the weight,” Leo said. “And I’m not ungrateful. But I don’t want to wake up at 50 and realize I spent my life doing something I hate just because it was safe.”
I shifted my weight, my knee giving a sharp, dry protest.
“I’m not scared of the weight.”
“In the service, the men people remembered the most weren’t the ones with the medals. They were the medics. It takes a special kind of steel to be the person who kneels beside a stranger on the worst day of their life and tells them it’s going to be okay.”
Leo’s gaze was fixed on me, his jaw set.
“That’s not the same thing,” David said, though the edge was gone from his tone.
