Except one person.
Aaron’s father, Richard, had been standing quietly nearby. He was usually reserved, content to stay out of conflict. As he watched my mom struggle to brush mud from her dress, something in him shifted.
He walked forward slowly.
“Patricia,” he said evenly, “what did you just do?”
She snapped back immediately.
“Nothing. She slipped.”
“You pushed her,” he said, louder now.
Patricia laughed nervously.
“That’s ridiculous. Why would I—”
“You pushed her,” he repeated. His voice carried across the group, firm and unmistakable. “I saw you.”
Silence fell.
