“I don’t know.”
She paused.
“Grandpa?”
Beckett’s father had been hard.
Not physically abusive.
But rigid.
A man who treated apologies like surrender.
If Ryan got a math problem wrong, his father did not say, “Try again.”
He said:
“You didn’t pay attention.”
If his mother contradicted him publicly, silence afterward lasted days.
Family learned.
Do not correct him in front of others.
Ryan had despised that growing up.
Then absorbed it.
Maybe.
He said:
“I’m turning into my father?”
Chloe laughed softly.
“You’re seventy percent less terrifying.”
“Thank you.”
“Not compliment.”
He smiled despite himself.
Then she said:
“You can still change.”
“How?”
“Start by noticing.”
That became his practice.
Not dramatic.
Notice.
When evidence contradicted.
Notice first emotion.
Heat.
Embarrassment.
Defensiveness.
Need to explain.
Need to establish authority.
He wrote three words on a card inside wallet:
CORRECT OR COMPETE?
Before arguing, ask.
Am I trying to correct the situation or compete with the person?
Months later, a young delivery worker arrived without visible badge.
Beckett stopped him.
The worker became irritated.
“I’m on list.”
Beckett checked.
Name there.
Old Beckett would have added:
“Then show badge next time and lose attitude.”
Instead:
“You’re cleared.”
The worker walked past.
No thank you.
No respect.
Beckett felt irritation rise.
Correct or compete?
Correct.
Question resolved.
He let him go.
His hands trembled slightly afterward.
It was absurd.
A fifty-something former officer challenged by nothing more than letting someone leave without winning.
But habits built through years do not vanish because a person finally understands them.
He had to practice.
Again.
Again.
He made mistakes.
One day snapped at contractor.
Later apologized.
The contractor shrugged.
“Whatever.”
Beckett hated that.
He wanted apology recognized.
Then laughed at himself.
There it was again.
Correction is not performance.
Years passed.
Omar eventually promoted him back to limited public-facing security.
No complaints for three years.
When Omar retired, he told Beckett:
“You got better.”
Beckett nodded.
“Wish I had before.”
Omar said:
“Everyone does.”
“That doesn’t erase what happened.”
“I know.”
“Good.”