Chapter 7 - Sarah’s Father Had Taught Her a Version of Toughness She Never Questioned
Sarah called her father the night after:
the incident.
Not because she needed:
advice.
Habit.
Gregory Mitchell answered from:
Florida,
where retirement had apparently converted him into a man deeply invested in:
lawn maintenance.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Heard somebody put hands on you.”
News moved fast in military families.
“I’m fine.”
“What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”
Pause.
“Nothing?”
“I stood up.”
Gregory laughed.
“That probably scared them enough.”
Sarah smiled.
Then he said:
“You always had that.”
“What?”
“You can take a lot before you react.”
Normally, Sarah considered that:
compliment.
That night it bothered her.
Take a lot.
Her father had raised her with variations of:
Don’t give idiots the satisfaction.
Keep your bearing.
Never let somebody else control your reaction.
Excellent lessons.
Mostly.
But maybe Sarah had spent years overvaluing:
endurance.
She remembered an incident at twenty-three.
A petty officer made a humiliating comment about her:
hair
in front of others.
Sarah said nothing.
Later reported:
nothing.
Her father said:
“Good. You didn’t let him get to you.”
Was that good?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
The man later made similar comments to:
another sailor
who did report.
There were consequences.
Sarah had always filed that memory under:
I was tougher then.
Now she wondered whether:
silence
had been confused with:
strength.
That question would become relevant when Commander Ward reviewed Sarah’s decisions at breakfast.
Because Sarah had allowed Jake to move through:
multiple escalating steps
before she planned to stop him.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she believed:
a good evaluator observes what people really are.
But where is the line between:
observing misconduct
and:
letting it continue long enough to prove itself?
May you like
Sarah had not yet answered.
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