Chapter 7 - WESTON’S CHILDHOOD Harlan had rules when Weston was a child.
Crying after age six meant being sent outside until you stopped.
If Weston broke a toy accidentally, Harlan threw another toy away “to teach care.”
If he refused dinner, breakfast was the same plate reheated.
When Weston was nine and afraid of diving into the deep end, Harlan shoved him into the pool.
Weston had told me that story when we were dating.
He laughed.
“Dad’s methods were intense.”
I asked:
“Were you scared?”
“Sure.”
“Did it help?”
“I learned to swim.”
That was how he interpreted survival.
Proof of method.
Not proof he adapted despite it.
When Cecily began crying at preschool drop-off the previous year, Harlan recognized weakness.
At least in his language.
Weston recognized himself.
And instead of protecting Cecily from what had happened to him, he became curious whether his father had been right.
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That was the first betrayal.
The second was keeping me outside the experiment.
