Here’s how I’d put it all together. Chapter 8. The hallway felt too narrow for all that anger. His mother stood her ground. He was convinced he was right and said what he said. Ugly words that you can never take back. He stormed into his room and sat there. Stewing, certain everyone else was wrong. Then the door flew open and his father walked in. He didn’t hesitate. One hand grabbed the back of his head, the other slammed across his face. A closed fist. Not a warning, but a lesson, at least that’s what it was supposed to be. The bruise lingered for days. At 18, he thought that day was about getting hit. He was wrong. Years later, in the Police Academy, he wore authority on his sleeve. Company sergeant. Marines behind him. He took everything seriously. One afternoon in the gym, a recruit did something careless, silly. Nick stepped forward and jabbed him in the stomach. Not hard enough to injure, but hard enough to embarrass. Almost immediately he felt it. That old memory rushed back. In that instant, he wasn’t looking at a recruit. He was looking at an 18-year-old kid with a black eye. And for the first time, he understood. Strength wasn’t about fear. Respect couldn’t be forced. It had to be lived. Right there in that gym, Nick promised himself he wouldn’t become the kind of man who confused anger with authority. He would spend the rest of his life trying to get that right. That night in the present, Nick finished telling it and Isabella was quiet. “I never knew any of that,” she said. Nick smiled. “Neither did I.” She laughed softly. “I guess that’s the strange part, isn’t it? We thought we knew each other 30 years ago.” “We knew the kids,” Nick said. Now we’re finally meeting the people they became.