“I will.”
“And David?”
“Yes?”
“I hope things eventually work out with Michael. I truly do.”
I watched Harry drive away.
The concrete truck was gone.
The road was open.
But the damage had already been done.
Trust that had taken a lifetime to build had been broken in a single morning.
I walked back into the house and closed the door.
The silence was overwhelming.
The photographs on the hallway wall showed Michael at every stage of his life: a smiling boy in a Little League uniform, a nervous teenager on graduation day, a young man standing beside Jennifer at their wedding.
Where had that boy gone?
When had he become the man who believed he could force his own father out of his home?
I sat in my favorite chair, the one Margaret used to call my throne, and stared through the window at the land.
It was still beautiful.
