Get up.
Go to work.
Do not sell.
Call Lily.
Tell the truth.
Take responsibility.
Build the wall straight.
Save money.
Forgive slowly.
Set boundaries.
Try again.
That was the real treasure.
My grandfather’s note had said.
If life goes wrong for her, this place may be where she begins again.
He was right.
But I eventually understood something else.
Beginning again did not mean returning to who I had been before prison.
That woman was gone.
She was younger.
Reckless.
Hungry for approval.
Willing to follow the wrong man because she feared being alone.
I did not need her back.
I needed to become someone new.
The cave gave me permission.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Now, at sixty-one, I live in the same small cabin.
People ask why I never built a larger home.
I could afford one.
I have savings.
Ridge House receives grants.
The remaining land is worth more than I ever imagined.
