For a fleeting moment, I imagined Dad sitting on those steps, ribbing me about the car. The tightness in my chest reminded me that version of us no longer existed.
“I hope you figure things out,” I added. “But I can’t fix it for you.”
No one spoke. I turned, walked back to the Bugatti, and slid into the driver’s seat. In the rearview mirror, I watched Mom snatch up the papers, speaking in quick bursts, while Mia stood frozen, as if stunned.
As I drove off, the house diminished in the distance until it was just another roof among many I had outgrown. My phone vibrated with a message from Jess—“How’d it go?”—and for the first time, my shoulders loosened as the city skyline rose ahead.
If this were you, would you forgive them or walk away for good? Share your honest take with me below.
