June's internship lasted through summer. I missed her at the store, but I did not ask her to return. She learned logistics software, warehouse planning, and how another family business had nearly collapsed by promoting relatives without qualifications. At dinner, she shared observations with me while Marcus listened from across the table. He asked questions without turning each answer into recruitment.

In August, Dean suffered a minor fall. While helping him organize his apartment, Marcus found boxes of letters from his older sister, Claire. She had worked at the store before moving west, and several letters contained ideas Dean later used without crediting her. Marcus brought them home looking ashamed. The tradition he had defended was not merely old; it had already erased someone he loved.

We invited Claire to a video call. Dean reluctantly joined. Claire laughed when Marcus apologized, then became serious. She said she had built a good life elsewhere, but leaving had not been entirely her choice. Dean listened with his chin lowered. I wore my mother's green dress, not as armor this time, but because I wanted her practical courage in the room.

Dean finally said he had believed sons stayed while daughters left. Claire answered that people often leave places where they are treated as temporary. No one forgave everything in one conversation. Still, Dean agreed to write a history of the store that included Claire, me, and the girls.

That night, Marcus asked whether I still wanted our marriage. I told him I wanted the version in which he remained curious about the harm he could not initially see. I would not stay for potential alone. He needed to keep doing the work after the crisis stopped embarrassing him. He said he understood. We moved slowly back into the same room, trading night feedings and attending counseling twice a month. My choice to stay did not erase the hospital sentence. It made that sentence the point where our family finally stopped letting inheritance decide whose effort counted.