He looked down.
“I did that.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then I asked.
“What are you going to do differently?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Apologies are easy.”
“What changes?”
He thought.
Then.
“I stop hiding behind Vanessa when I disagree.”
“Good.”
“And stop hiding behind you when she does something wrong.”
“Better.”
“I also talk to you like my father.”
“Not a problem to manage.”
That mattered most.
I nodded.
“Good.”
We did not hug.
Not then.
He left.
The next weeks became surprisingly peaceful.
I settled into my house.
Walter’s Pies grew.
Not into an empire.
I already had one business empire.
This was different.
The neighborhood loved it.
Margaret became unofficial marketing director.
She was dangerous.
She posted pictures constantly.
One Saturday, I had fifty-three orders.
I called the commercial kitchen manager.
“Need space.”
He laughed.
“You own the place.”
“I know.”
Noah and Emma helped package.
I paid them.
