He nodded, visibly relieved.
“Can we work on the commission costume tonight? I want to get the measurements right.”
“Absolutely.”
We spent the evening in the garage like always—creating and building instead of dwelling on things we couldn’t control.
Oliver’s first commission piece was coming together beautifully, and his confidence grew with each completed section.
Whatever happened with my mother’s treatment—whatever guilt trips they might attempt in the future—my answer would remain the same.
Some bridges, once burned, don’t get rebuilt.
And that was okay.
The next morning brought sunshine and the promise of spring.
Oliver headed to school with his latest project photos to share.
And I went to work feeling lighter than I had in years.
We chose our peace over their presence.
