And I was finally learning that being alone wasn’t the same thing as being unwanted.
Thomas’s greatest gift wasn’t the cabin.
It wasn’t the forest.
It wasn’t the money.
It wasn’t even the notebook.
His real gift was giving me the chance to understand something I should have learned years earlier:
I could open my own front door, walk into my own life—
and stay.
I looked toward the stars.
“Goodnight, Thomas.”
Nothing magical happened.
No voice answered.
No sign appeared.
And I realized I didn’t need one.
I had already been loved.
Now, finally, I knew how to live without having to prove I deserved it.
