Liam grew into a hardworking, disciplined young man. By fifteen, he worked in a garage; by seventeen, customers requested him by name. When he turned eighteen, he asked for only one thing: “I want to meet Grandpa.”
So I drove him to the house I once called home. My father opened the door, stunned by how much Liam resembled us. My son handed him a small box containing a slice of birthday cake and said, “I forgive you. For what you did to my mom. For what you didn’t do for me.”
Then he added, gently but firmly, that he planned to open his own garage and become my father’s greatest competition — not out of hatred, but because we had learned to succeed alone.
When Liam returned to the car, he looked at me and said, “I forgave him, Mom. Maybe it’s your turn.” And in that moment, I realized we weren’t broken after all. We were unbreakable.
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