Neither was wrong.
But the difference pushed them apart.
After leaving home, the young woman built a modest life in the city.
She worked for an agricultural supply distributor, handling inventory records, customer accounts, and shipping schedules.
It wasn't glamorous.
But she was good at it.
She understood rural customers, knew the difference between ordinary equipment and specialized agricultural supplies, and could identify errors in invoices that other employees overlooked.
She earned enough to rent a small apartment.
Paid her bills.
And occasionally sent money home when she suspected her father was struggling.
He usually returned it.
Not because he didn't appreciate the help.
Because accepting money from his daughter made him feel that he'd failed to provide for her.
The arguments continued.
They spoke on holidays.
Birthdays.
And whenever one of them was frightened enough to forget their pride.
But their conversations rarely lasted as long as either wanted.
Then the fish died.
Not all at once.
The disaster had begun six years before the three hatchery trucks arrived.
At that time, the ponds supported a small but successful family business.
The father raised freshwater fish for local recreational pond stocking and regional buyers.
He maintained relationships with several hatcheries and occasionally supplied mature fish to approved customers.
The business wasn't enormous.
But it provided income alongside the farm's other agricultural activities.
The ponds were beautiful then.
Clear enough to reflect the trees.
Deep enough to support a carefully managed fish population.
And surrounded by grass banks that her mother had helped plant.
The daughter remembered carrying feed buckets beside her father.
She remembered summer evenings when the water rippled with fish.
And the extraordinary excitement of watching a harvest crew work.
The family never became wealthy from the ponds.
But they were proud of them.
Then, during a particularly wet spring, the water changed.
One morning, the father noticed fish gathering near the surface.
Some appeared distressed.
Others moved sluggishly.
He checked the aeration equipment.
Then the water conditions.
At first, he suspected a routine oxygen problem.
Warm weather and organic material could make pond management difficult.
But the symptoms didn't improve as expected.
Over the next several days, more fish became sick.
The father contacted a fisheries specialist.
Water samples were collected.
The farm's management records were reviewed.
And the family attempted to stabilize the ponds under professional advice.
Despite those efforts, substantial fish losses followed.
The largest pond suffered first.
Then the second.
And eventually the third.
Thousands of fish died.
The farm lost an entire production cycle.
The father spent days moving between the ponds, watching something he'd spent decades building collapse.
The daughter took time off work to visit.
When she arrived, the air smelled of wet vegetation and stagnant water.