EVELYN
I have honestly moved on about life.
Or so I told myself, every morning, as I tied my apron and smiled at strangers with complicated coffee orders and perfume too strong for a cafe. But that was the thing about lies, you had to rehearse them so well they started to feel like your truth.
The worst part of last month wasn’t even the quiet arguments or the pitying glances or the smell of defeat that hung in our living room like old socks.
It was Dad’s issue.
He finally sold the remaining half.
That was it. My Dad doesn't have to go to any meetings. No more Taylor & Co. No more buildings with our family name on them. No more reason for him to wake up early and button his shirt like he still had somewhere to go. No more legacy. That was life, right?
One minute you’re building a dream with your bare hands, the next, you’re watching it crumble from a worn-out sofa with the TV remote slipping between your fingers.
That was what I learned about life. That sometimes, what you work hard
