Mom walked up quietly, joining me at the edge. She slipped her arm through mine.
“I was wrong about you,” she said. Her voice cracked but held firm. “And I see it now. All of it. I’m proud of you, Hannah.”
I nodded, throat tight.
“That means more than you know.”
Behind us, the building buzzed with laughter and conversation, veterans swapping stories, kids playing in the courtyard, women signing up for programs. It was messy and loud and imperfect, exactly the kind of future Dad and Grandma Rose had imagined.
Megan didn’t show, of course. I hadn’t expected her to. The last I’d heard, she’d sold her Miami condo share and was trying to claw her way into another real estate project, always chasing the next dollar, never catching the point. But in a way, her absence was its own confirmation. She hadn’t won. She never would.
