Chapter 24 - The Weight of the Past
I stood in the doorway for a long time, listening to the steady patter of the rain against the porch roof. Slowly, I reached out, picked up the wooden box, and carried it inside.
I set it on the kitchen island and opened the latch. Inside rested a heavy, ornate silver pocket watch, its hands frozen in time, alongside a handful of sepia-toned photographs of people who shared my son's smile, untouched by the malice of the woman who had tried to rewrite our world.
Later that afternoon, when Leo bounded through the front door with his red backpack swinging from one shoulder, chattering excitedly about a science project, I pulled him close, breathing in the scent of rain and childhood.
"What's that, Mom?" Leo asked, pointing his small finger at the open wooden box on the counter.
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"Just a piece of history, sweetie," I smiled, kissing the top of his head. "A reminder of where we came from, and how strong we had to be to get here."
He didn't need to know the details—not yet, anyway. All he needed to know was that he was loved, protected, and entirely free.
