Apparently, age turns everyone into their grandfather.
The cave remained.
We never turned it into anything fancy.
No tourist sign.
No paved path.
No lights.
Only a simple wooden bench outside.
Residents sometimes sat there.
I told them the story if they asked.
I did not make the cave sacred.
It was just rock.
But rock had sheltered me when people would not.
That mattered.
On the fifteenth anniversary of my release, Ridge House held a dinner.
Former residents returned.
Some brought spouses.
Children.
One brought a baby.
Angela, our first resident, arrived carrying the same BEGIN AGAIN keychain.
She had opened her own bakery.
Denise still worked with us.
Lily stood beside me.
Samuel gave a speech that was too long.
Mark cried before anyone else did.
At the end, Lily handed me a small wooden box.
My heart almost stopped.
It looked like my grandfather’s.
Not identical.
