They Hid Me Behind A Pillar At My Brother’s Wedding

as the aunt with the stiff hugs and the weird tan lines from watches and rifles.

I had let my father keep his medal case.

That part suddenly made me sick.

“Frank,” I said.

He blinked.

I had not called him Dad in twelve years, but I had never called him Frank to his face.

His jaw moved.

I said, “You saved the wrong box.”

Nobody spoke.

Not even him.

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