Chapter 14 - THE LAST THING DAMIAN ASKED ME TO GIVE HIM
Dad’s estate was almost ready to close when Damian made one final request.
Not the house.
Not money.
Dad’s baseball bat.
The same wooden bat he held over me.
I stared at Marcus.
“He wants what?”
“It belonged to your father.”
“Absolutely not.”
Marcus nodded.
“Then no.”
That should have been the end.
Instead I thought about the bat for three days.
Dad bought it when Damian was eleven.
Not as a weapon.
For Little League.
Dad used to pitch tennis balls to us in the backyard.
Damian was talented.
I was terrible.
The handle still had black tape Dad wrapped around it after the original grip wore out.
Damian had turned that object into something else.
Did that mean he owned what it became?
I asked Luke, Damian’s son, through the appropriate family channel if he wanted any of Grandpa’s baseball things.
Luke was fourteen.
He answered:
“The glove.”
Not the bat.
I kept the glove for him.
Then I called Marcus.
“Destroy the bat.”
He paused.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Not because I believed objects were contaminated.
Because nobody needed it.
Dad’s memory did not require preserving the instrument Damian chose to use against me.
That was the first half of the decision.
The second involved money.
After the house sale and estate expenses, my distribution was substantial.
So was Damian’s, though his share was subject to legitimate offsets and creditor issues.
One lawyer floated a settlement where I could pursue additional civil damages against Damian and potentially attach part of his estate distribution.
I had every right to consider it.
Medical bills.
Therapy.
Lost work.
Pain.
I did.
Then I separated compensation from punishment.
My direct costs were real.
My attorney negotiated reimbursement through appropriate channels.
Beyond that, I decided not to pursue every available dollar merely because taking it would hurt Damian.
Marcus asked:
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want the last thing Dad’s estate does to be turning me into another person deciding how much Damian is allowed to keep.”
That did not mean forgiveness.
Damian still faced what he owed.
Business creditors.
Legal costs.
Restitution where applicable.
The estate accounting.
I simply refused to use every legal tool as emotional retaliation.
Then Damian sent a handwritten letter.
One page.
No excuse about Dad.
No Vanessa.
No company.
He wrote:
I knew you had not agreed. I knew the signature had to be voluntary. I decided my emergency was more important than your right to say no. I hurt you because I believed forcing you was easier than losing what I wanted. I am sorry.
I read it once.
Then put it in a drawer.
I did not answer.
May you like
A correct apology does not create an obligation to reconcile.
That was another kind of consent I was learning to protect.
