Chapter 15
I moved into Dad’s house six months later.
Not because I was running.
Because it was mine.
Because it loved me before Ryan did.
Because every room held a version of me that had not yet learned to shrink.
Megan helped pack.
Nora handled final property filings.
My neighbor Mrs. Alvarez brought soup and said, “Your father said you would come back one day.”
I cried again.
I was becoming very good at crying.
The first night, I slept in my childhood room.
No Linda.
No Ryan.
No camera needed above the bookshelf.
Still, I kept one.
Not out of fear.
Out of wisdom.
I started therapy.
Real therapy.
Not the kind Ryan once suggested to make me easier.
My therapist asked what I wanted.
I said, “To trust myself.”
She said, “You already started.”
I began volunteering with an elder fraud clinic because Dad’s case exposed others.
People came with forged papers.
Stolen accounts.
Relatives calling them confused.
Doctors signing lies.
I knew that script now.
I helped one woman freeze a transfer before her son sold her home.
When she hugged me, I thought of Dad.
I thought of his letter.
May you like
Trust your instincts.
I finally was.
