it without treating disagreement as rejection. That quiet progress mattered. After the opening I found Dad in his original workshop, turning the rusty key over in his palm.
“You still carrying that?”
“No.”
Inside were Granddad’s letters, trust copies, the ledger and photographs of our reopened workshop. Dad hung the key on a brass hook and shut the panel.
“Done?” I asked him. He considered it.
“No.”
“What’s left?”
“Living.”
I smiled at his answer.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Back inside, the extended kitchen table seated Mom, Luis, Derek, Veronica, Inez and me. I used to think owning this house guaranteed security. Derek sought it through control and Dad through hidden legal papers. We’d all missed what happened between the people living there. Mom called out. ChooseFurniture
“Gabriel!”
“You need help?”
“No.”
She gestured to an empty chair.
“Sit.”
I sat down as Dad noticed the groceries.
“You bought
