Keep arguing.
Keep deciding what stories it preferred.
And I would keep building anyway.
Board by board.
Gate by gate.
Dog by dog.
Because my father had left me exactly one thing in his will.
Not the money.
Not the house.
Not even Tank.
He left me the chance to stop being afraid of what people call “broken.”
And to finally understand—
The deepest scars don’t just hide the most beautiful hearts.
They often protect them.
