Belonging to You
“You do. You just don’t want to admit it yet.”
His certainty was both irritating and oddly reassuring.
“London treated you well,” he continued. “But that was never where you belonged, Christian. This—” he gestured around the room, the estate, the legacy “—this is yours.”
I exhaled slowly. “Belonging is a stretch, Abuelo.”
He nodded, acknowledging the truth in that. “Because of her?”
I said nothing. I didn’t need to.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his temple. “I know what this house represents for you. What those walls took from you.”
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