We shook hands like partners, and then held on like father and son.

That afternoon we burned the last letter Delia had sent from her cell. It held no apology — only requests for money for her defense.

The flames curled it inward, and the wind carried the ashes out over the water.

I understand now that family loyalty has a limit. It doesn’t end when someone disagrees with you, or refuses your plans, or protects what’s theirs.

It ends when they demand that you accept abuse, or humiliation, or silent suffering, just to keep up the appearance of peace.

Love without boundaries isn’t love.