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The unique way this collection is written is that the meaning and the story changes based on perspective. The overarching theme is the story about love, loss, reconciliation between a father and son. The interpretation of the story changes based on whether you read it as the Son being the narrator or the Father.

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The cardboard boxes are packed and sealed, eighteen years of life condensed into neat rectangles. Each one heavy with memories, light with possibilities.

As I sift through the last of the room I stumble upon something at the bottom of the drawer.

Love is worth the risk

The anger that has simmered for years feels different now. I understand love’s weight, its cost. How it can break you open, leave you bleeding and also make you whole. Whether it leaves through death’s door or choice’s window, it cuts just as deep.

I convinced myself that I didn’t need him. That the space left behind wasn’t empty, just rearranged. But late at night, when the world is quiet enough to hear truth whisper, I find myself searching for a voice I used to know. A presence I swore I didn’t miss.

I remembered the moment. I’d held my hand out my trembling hand and shown him the ring. My hands had trembled. My lips quivered. My heart ached. Our eyes met briefly. No words needed to be said. He knew what had happened.

And that’s when I saw it. The pain that was mirrored back at me in his eyes. I hadn’t noticed it all these days. Maybe he had just become adept at hiding it.

What if he was just as lost as I was? What if every time he looked at me, he saw both miracle and reminder? Both gift and cost? What if every time I looked at Him, I was searching for both absolution and understanding?

The morning sun streams through the window, catching dust motes in its light. Soon this room will be empty, ready for whatever comes next. I run my hand along the wall where memories are marked in pencil and pain.

Please forgive me. For the times I couldn’t understand your grief. For the moments I mistook your protection for prison. For the years I spent making you pay for a loss neither of us could control.

He stands in the doorway now—or maybe I’m the one watching from the threshold. Our eyes meet, and in that moment, I see what I couldn’t before: we’re both just trying our best to carry the weight of love and loss, to bridge the gap between what was and what could be.

Maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s everything.

~ Fin ~