On Sophie’s sixteenth birthday, Dad gave her the camera jacket.
She laughed so hard she nearly dropped it.
“Grandpa, this is ancient.”
“It is historic.”
“It smells like peppermints.”
“So do I.”
He hugged her.
Then he handed me a small box.
Inside was the original camera clip from the day he saved me.
“I don’t need this anymore,” he said.
My throat tightened.
“You sure?”
“I kept it because I was afraid no one would believe you again.”
He looked at Sophie.
“But look at her. Look at you. The world believes you because you kept speaking.”
I closed the box.
“Then we’ll keep it in the fund office.”
“Good.”
Ryan arrived later with a simple gift and a card.
Sophie read it privately.
Then she hugged him.
Not because anyone told her to.
Because she wanted.
The family we had now would have been impossible to explain to the woman I was on the living room floor.
Ryan was not restored as my partner.
Diane was gone.
Dad remained my rock.
Sophie remained my proof.
And I remained mine.
That was enough.
