Lily painted the front door yellow.
I protested.
She ignored me.
Patch left paw prints in the wet paint near the bottom.
We left them.
The first night I slept inside, I could not rest.
The bed was soft.
Too soft.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
I kept waking.
At 2:00 a.m., I went outside.
I sat on the porch.
The cave entrance was visible through trees.
Patch followed.
I looked at the little house.
My house.
Not inherited from my mother.
Not borrowed.
Not temporary.
Built.
Mine.
I cried quietly.
Then laughed.
“Granddad.”
I looked toward the hill.
“You really knew.”
The next year was better.
Not easy.
Better.
I earned steady work.
Luis promoted me to crew lead on small renovation jobs.
I started taking evening classes in construction management.
Lily graduated high school.
I attended.
My mother did too.
We sat on opposite sides.
Neither spoke.
