“So you changed them?”
“We changed them.”
That correction mattered to him.
“Afterward, I stopped flying and moved into maintenance training and safety work.”
I stared at him.
“So, when you told us you worked in airport maintenance…”
“I did.”
“You left out the part where you were a captain.”
“I didn’t see how it mattered.”
“It matters to your daughter.”
His face tightened.
“Why didn’t Mom tell me?”
“Because I asked her not to.”
“Why?”
Dad looked toward the aircraft outside. “People started treating me differently.”
Grant said quietly, “Because you deserved respect.”
“No.”
Dad’s answer was immediate.
“I did my job. The crew did theirs. The people on the ground did theirs. But every time someone retold the story, there were fewer people in it until there was only me.”
I finally understood.
He hadn’t hidden the wings because that part of his life meant nothing to him.
He had hidden them because he refused to let one day become the only thing people saw.
“Then why bring them today?”
His eyes filled. “Claire.”
Dad swallowed.
“Your mother gave me those wings when I became captain.”
Mom had been gone for 7 years.
“I thought I’d wear them for Claire’s wedding. Inside the jacket. Just for me.”
