Sometimes we visited the old house, promising to restore it one day as a tribute to where our journey began. One afternoon, Ethan mentioned someone from his past had stopped by.
There was no bitterness in his tone — only peace. “People come back when they’re ready,” he said. “But our story never stopped.” And sitting beside him, I finally understood: family isn’t defined by who stays by blood, but by who chooses to stay through love. We weren’t shaped by what we lost — we were shaped by what we built together.
