I wanted to break his nose. Instead, I turned and walked out. Mom called after me, but I didn’t stop. The air outside felt thick, heavy. I got in my truck and just sat there, the engine rumbling, my hands shaking so badly I had to grip the steering wheel to still them. The shop, my shop, Dad’s shop, was being handed over to some corporate chain, its soul about to be stripped out and replaced with cheap logos and fake smiles. And she had let it happen.