He will never make his face a closed door in a room full of adults deciding his fate, never take up as little space as possible, never lie awake certain no one is coming.

He will grow up knowing, from the ground up, that he is wanted and safe and free to want things out loud.

That is the empire I actually care about building.

The tower and the portfolio are only tools.

The real inheritance I am leaving my son is the one Dexter tried to make impossible and my mother made real: a foundation wide enough and solid enough that when the towers he builds fall — and they will fall, everyone’s do — he will not cry, or look for someone to fix it.

He will simply pick up the largest block and begin again, on ground that was always, from his very first breath, his own.

THE END.