Curtis was left with what he had chosen: comfort without connection, money without trust, a future shaped by the same disregard he had lived by. I moved back into the home not as someone who had “won,” but as someone who had been seen. Arthur hadn’t punished his son.
He had protected what was right. Some people measure worth in wealth. Others measure it in how you treat those who can no longer give you anything in return.
In the end, Arthur made sure his legacy followed the second measure. And I learned something just as lasting:
Love that is quiet and faithful may go unnoticed for a time —
but truth has a way of finding its place. Not loudly.
Not cruelly. But firmly, when it matters most.
