“Daddy…”
His small voice trembled.
Thomas crouched beside him.
“Who told you to scrub the tables?”
Jacob glanced over his shoulder before replying.
“Grandma did… she said good boys should help. But then Aunt Melissa said I was doing it wrong.”
Thomas carefully cleaned Jacob’s dirty hands with his own handkerchief.
“You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Then he rose.
“Rebecca.”
His daughter looked like she wanted to throw herself into his arms but feared getting into trouble.
“Dad… Grandma said we had to earn our lunch.”
Those words hit him more pa!nfully than any insult ever could.
“You had to do what?”
Rebecca lowered her gaze.
“She said because we’re… different.”
Samuel quietly spoke up, “Grandpa said we’re not a real family.”
Silence.
Not across the yard.
