The Aftermath and a New Beginning
Emily returned and asked if it was her fault.
I held her close.
“No,” I said. And I meant it.
In the days that followed, neighbors shared photos of her food. Messages of gratitude poured in. Someone asked if she catered. Another offered to pay her for an event.
Emily began researching culinary schools.
Not because she felt pressure.
But because she felt joy.
My mother sent angry messages. I did not respond.
My father left a voicemail apologizing. I did not respond.
Three days later, he came alone.
He apologized properly. To Emily.
He admitted he should have paid attention. That he had failed her.
He handed her a chef’s knife engraved with her initials.
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