He had known people might mistake illness for weakness, silence for confusion, and kindness for permission.
So he had protected the truth without becoming cruel himself.
I finally understood why he had kept meeting Daniel.
Why he had written everything down.
Why he had told me all my life that even thorns had a purpose.
I looked across the garden toward the old house, no longer wondering who might take it from me.
For the first time since the funeral, it did not feel like a place haunted by what I had lost.
It felt like what my father intended it to be.
Home.
