That evening, I returned to the penthouse. City lights stretched beyond the windows, each one belonging to a life I would never know. I poured myself a glass of whiskey—the good bottle I’d saved for my birthday and never opened.

The amber liquid caught the light as I lifted the glass.

“To Nancy,” I said quietly.

Then, after a pause, “And to finally knowing the difference between protection and surrender.”

The whiskey warmed my chest.

I stood there alone.