After dinner, Dad walked me to the porch. For a moment, neither of us knew what to say. Then he hugged me, awkwardly at first, and held on. I realized I had spent years believing I needed his recognition to prove that my life mattered. I had been wrong.
The people I rescued knew what I had done. Hank knew. My team knew. And now, finally, Dad knew too. I did not need a seat at his table to prove I belonged there. But when he opened the door again, I knew I would come back—not because I had finally earned my place, but because it had always been mine.
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