He considered the question.
“Because it wasn't theirs to keep.”
She nodded slowly.
He continued.
“Even when something is small, ownership matters.”
That lesson remained with her for years.
Then the family's circumstances worsened.
The landlord increased the rent on the shop.
A large repair chain opened nearby.
Customers began purchasing inexpensive replacements rather than repairing older watches.
Her father worked longer hours.
Her mother took more sewing assignments.
The daughter helped manage the books after school.
Eventually, the floating seconds project was placed into storage.
Not abandoned.
Her father never used that word.
He simply couldn't afford to continue developing it.
When she turned eighteen, he gave her the small brass test component he had manufactured when she was eight.
It was the one with three tiny notches.
He placed it in a velvet-lined box.
She looked confused.
“Daddy, why are you giving me this?”
He smiled.
“Because you're leaving for college.”
She laughed.
“So I get a piece of a broken watch?”
“Not broken.”
He looked toward the brass.
“Unfinished.”
She turned it in her fingers.
He continued.
“When I started making this, I thought the greatest thing I could do was build something nobody had built before.”
She nodded.
He smiled.
“Then I realized the greatest thing I made was sitting beside me every night asking questions.”
Her eyes filled.
“Daddy.”
He squeezed her hand.
“You're going to build things I can't even imagine.”
She laughed through tears.
“Maybe I'll buy that company someday.”
Her father burst out laughing.
Then shook his head.
“Don't waste your life trying to punish people who underestimated you.”
She frowned.
“But they treated you badly.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then why shouldn't they pay?”
He considered the question.
“Accountability matters.”
He paused.
“But revenge can become another way of letting somebody control your life.”