Chapter 10 - THE FINAL WORDBack in a cramped, drab provincial apartment two hundred miles away, the television played softly in the background.
Daniel sat at a sticky kitchen table, eating a bowl of instant ramen by the harsh, flickering light of a single overhead bulb. His phone sat beside the bowl—silent, dark, and permanently blocked from the life he had so carelessly thrown away.
From the other room, Carmen’s bitter voice echoed down the hallway, complaining about the small size of the kitchen and the noise of the traffic outside.
Daniel didn't answer. He looked down at his empty hands, remembering the exact moment he watched me walk out the front door with our daughter while telling him, “Starting tomorrow, all of you will learn what it means to go without.”
He finally understood the true weight of those words.
You can never starve someone who owns the kitchen. And you can never break someone who built her own crown.
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I poured myself a glass of sparkling water, walked back into the warmth of the grand ballroom, and took my rightful place at the center of the world I built with my own hands.
The End.
