“No.”
That was the first time someone had told me I could keep something.
I almost cried again.
Maya helped transfer the property fully into my name.
It took weeks.
During that time, I still slept in the cave.
But things changed.
I used some of my grandfather’s cash carefully.
I bought a used sleeping bag.
A small propane stove.
Dog food.
Work gloves.
A tarp.
A flashlight.
Patch became mine.
Or I became his.
Hard to say.
I cleaned the cave.
I found the spring my grandfather mentioned.
It was clogged with leaves and debris.
I cleared it.
The water still had to be filtered.
But it ran.
I found the old shed foundation.
Only stones remained.
I began imagining a small cabin.
Nothing fancy.
One room.
Wood stove.
Bed.
Table.
I had spent eleven years being told exactly where to sleep.
The idea of building my own room felt almost unbelievable.
