That loss would not be repaired as easily as a piece of metal.
The house on Oak Street looked exactly as the general remembered.
The porch light glowed beside the screen door. Two flowerpots stood near the steps, and the old wooden swing his father installed decades earlier moved gently in the evening breeze. Through the kitchen window, he could see the small table where his parents once sat drinking coffee while discussing their day.
But when he helped his mother through the doorway, the familiar house felt strangely fragile.
She stopped beside the framed photograph in the hallway.
It showed her husband wearing his military uniform, standing proudly with his hands at his sides.
For several seconds, she looked at it.
Then she began crying again.
The general placed one hand on her shoulder.
"Mama?"
She touched the frame.
"I was taking his badge to the library."
He nodded.
"I know."
She looked toward him.
"They wanted the children to see it."
Her voice broke.
"I thought he'd be proud."
The general swallowed.
"He would."
She shook her head.
"But now it's broken."
He guided her gently toward the living room.
The medical team had recommended rest, and he wanted her to sit somewhere comfortable. He brought a glass of water, checked that she had what she needed, and placed her favorite blanket over the arm of the sofa.
Then he opened a small evidence receipt he had received after investigators collected the damaged badge.
The original insignia was being preserved as evidence.
It couldn't yet be returned.
But he had photographed it carefully before the collection process was completed.
His mother watched him.
"Can they fix it?"
He sat beside her.
"I don't know how much of the metal can be restored."
She looked down.
For a moment, she seemed devastated.
Then he continued.
"But we'll make sure it's preserved. And if it can be repaired without compromising the evidence, we'll find someone qualified to do it when the time comes."
She nodded slowly.
Her eyes moved toward the photograph.
Then she whispered, "Your daddy would've been so angry."
The general considered that.
For a moment, he imagined his father alive.
The old veteran would have been furious about the slap.
He would have demanded an explanation.
But the general also knew his father rarely allowed anger to become the final answer.
He took a breath.