My parents seemed smaller, humbled perhaps by the realization that they could no longer direct my life as they saw fit. The woman collected the documents, ensuring each was duly signed and witnessed. “You’ll receive official copies by the end of the week,” she assured me.
As she turned to leave, she paused, looking at my parents with a mix of understanding and admonition. “Family is important,” she said softly, “but respect is paramount.”
When the door closed behind her, the room felt larger, more open. My parents lingered, unsure of what to say.
Perhaps there were no words left for them in this new dynamic. As they stood to leave, I offered a tentative smile, hoping it conveyed some semblance of forgiveness. “Let’s take this one step at a time,” I said gently.
They nodded, and as they walked out into the night, I was left standing in my home—a place that was finally, unequivocally, my own.
