I didn’t even change out of my gown. I just ran—clutching the ledger, the key, and the truth I could no longer hide.
He was there, just beyond campus, sitting by his old motorcycle. The same one from my childhood. His head was bowed, helmet beside him, the fading sunlight spilling over his shoulders.
He looked up, older and wearier than I remembered, eyes soft with something like forgiveness.
I ran to him, tears blurring my vision. When I reached him, I threw my arms around his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of leather, gasoline, and home.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I didn’t know. I didn’t understand.”
He held me tightly, his calloused hands trembling as he stroked my hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I just wanted to see you graduate. That’s all I ever wanted.”
I looked into his eyes—tired, kind, unbroken—and all the bitterness I’d carried dissolved.
“You did more than that,” I said softly. “You gave me everything.”
He glanced down at the key in my hand. “That’s yours,” he said. “A place to start over. You deserve that.”
