As permission.
I held Lily close and kissed her hair.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Always.”
Outside, the first snow of winter began falling over Chicago, soft and white and strangely bright.
My father arrived the next morning with pancakes shaped like dinosaurs. Lily declared him acceptable after making him roar three times in the kitchen.
For the first time since Ethan’s last breath, laughter filled the house.
Not the same laughter.
Never the same.
But real.
And on the mantel, beside Ethan’s photo, I placed a new picture: Lily with syrup on her cheeks, my father wearing a paper crown, and me smiling through tears.
People thought the story ended the night Garrett missed eighteen calls.
They were wrong.
That night was the ending of one life.
But Ethan, my beautiful boy, left behind something stronger than revenge.
He left behind a reason to keep loving.
And in the end, that became the only victory Vanessa Hale could never steal.
