Now, with Dad’s journals stacked on my bedside table and a new chapter opening in front of me, I’m learning to walk lighter. I’m learning to choose people who choose me for the right reasons. And I carry my father’s final gift with me—not the house, not the money, but the reminder that real love never asks, “What do you have?” It asks, “How can I stand beside you?”
And that’s the inheritance worth holding onto.
