Chapter 8 - THE TURNING POINTSilence stretched between them, heavier than the ocean storm.
Inside the cabin, the clock on the wall ticked steadily. In Santa Barbara, forty floors above downtown and miles down the coast, a frail old man was fighting his final breath.
Robert looked down at his hands—hands that had signed billion-dollar mergers, crushed competitors, and casually destroyed an innocent woman's life with a single stroke of a pen. For thirty-five years, he had believed that ruthlessness was strength. He had believed that emotional detachment was the ultimate protection against pain.
He looked back up at Laura.
The rain stopped drumming on his shoulders as the clouds parted completely, flooding the porch with a brilliant, golden coastal light.
"I'm done running," Robert said, his voice dropping all pretense of corporate bravado, sounding remarkably like a son asking for forgiveness. "I’ve spent my entire life building a fortress so large I couldn't hear anyone crying inside it. If you come back... I’ll tear the walls down myself."
Laura studied his face for what felt like an eternity. Then, slowly, a faint, forgiving smile touched the corners of her lips.
May you like
She turned back into the cabin, grabbed her canvas backpack from the wooden bench, and walked out the door, pulling it shut behind her.
"Let’s go home, Robert," she said.
