Own things.

Not only houses. Not merely accounts or companies. Own your decisions. Own your silence. Own the moment you stop fearing people whose power exists only because you keep giving it to them.

That night, Thatcher told me I’d leave with nothing. He was wrong. I left with my daughter, my keys, my company, my name, my evidence, and a calm so deep it carried me through every room that ever tried to make me smaller.

I didn’t leave with nothing.

I left with everything that had been mine from the beginning.

THE END.