Chapter 8 - The Thirty Days Ended, and My Son Packed His BagsOn the thirtieth day, Ethan packed.
He had sold the SUV.
Closed the luxury office.
Negotiated a repayment plan with the bank.
He wasn't rich anymore.
But he was honest.
He stood in the hallway with two suitcases.
“Mom.”
I nodded.
“I'm leaving.”
“I know.”
“I don't know where I'll live.”
“You'll figure it out.”
He smiled sadly.
“That's what you always told me when I was a kid.”
I smiled.
“You survived.”
He looked around the house.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Do you still want me to come back someday?”
I looked at him.
“As my son?”
“Yes.”
“Always.”
He began crying.
“But not as someone who owns this place.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
He hugged me.
This time, I hugged him first.
He left.
I watched his car disappear down the street.
The house was silent.
For the first time in three years, every room belonged to me again.
But I didn't feel victorious.
I felt empty.
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Because winning against your own child isn't really winning.
It's surviving.
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