Finally, after two full months of quiet afternoon visits, Austin agreed to go to the community ball field with his father for a Saturday morning practice.

While they sat side by side on the wooden dugout bench after batting practice, Peter had broken down crying and given his son a full, honest apology.

He didn’t blame the hospital bills, he didn’t blame the overtime cuts at the plant, and he didn’t put the responsibility on his domineering mother, Gretchen.

Peter looked his nine-year-old in the eyes and told him he had made a horrible, unforgivable mistake no father should ever make, and that Austin had done nothing to deserve that hurt.

Austin had listened quietly, turning his leather baseball glove over in his hands for several minutes before looking up at his crying father.