“Exactly, Ronnie,” I muttered, locking the door for the last time.
As I walked toward my car, the sun pierced through the clouds, reflecting off the damp pavement. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t running away. I was walking toward a horizon that I had built with my own hands.
The calls stopped. The bribes ceased. The silence that I used to fear became my greatest ally.
I arrived in Seattle a week later. Jacob met me at a small coffee shop near the water. We talked about the project, about the future, about things that had nothing to do with debts or betrayal.
I looked out at the harbor, at the ships moving toward the open sea. I was a son, but I was no longer a tool. I was a man who had reclaimed his own narrative.
Sometimes, family isn’t a bond. It’s a burden you have to be brave enough to set down.
“Peace at last,” Ronnie whispered from his perch in my new living room.
“Tea master,” I replied, laughing as I reached for the kettle.
Life was perfect.
