Page 61 of October
"And let's be frank... I never wanted to be CEO of my father's company."
I looked up at him, caught off guard. Those words; they didn't sound like him. Not the version I'd known for years. Not the man who'd buried himself in work and boardrooms and late-nightcalls. He exhaled, his shoulders sinking a little. Like just saying it out loud had taken something out of him.
"I did it for him," he continued, voice flat but filled with something raw and unfinished. "Studied economics, business, all of it, because that's what he expected. I mapped out my whole life on a blueprint he handed me. Took the job, wore the suit, smiled at the meetings — all to prove I could carry his legacy. To look like him. To be the man he always talked about being."
He paused, looking somewhere distant, eyes cloudy with old grief.
"I worked like hell to impress him. Every damn day. Even when he barely looked up from his desk. I told myself if I just did better, climbed higher, sacrificed more — he'd finally turn around and say he was proud of me. That I'd earned it. His respect. His love. Something."
He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. More like a sad exhale twisted into something resembling humor.
"But I think it's clear now — I'm not cut out for it. Not really. I don't thrive in it. Isurviveit. And honestly?" He met my eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I sawhim. Not the polished image, not the nameplate on the office door — just the man underneath. "I actually... hate it."
His voice cracked slightly on that last word.
"I don't know what I'm going to do next," he admitted. "I really don't. But I know what Iwantto do."
He took a deep breath, and this time, there was strength in it. A trembling, growing kind of strength, the kind that comes from admitting you've been lost.
"I want to work on myself. Not as some executive or someone chasing approval that may never come. I want to be a better man. A better father. I want to learn how to show up for people, really show up. With presence, not just money. With effort, not just obligation. And I know I've failed you, more than once, and I can't change the past. Even with the divorce, I still want to be part of this family. Even if it's a different version. Even if it's harder and messier than before. I want to be someone our kids can be proud of , someone who doesn't just carry a legacy, butbuildsone. With love. With presence. With truth."
My hands trembled as I held the documents. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air felt thick with everything unsaid, the weight of our shared history pressing in from all sides. I finally managed to speak. "That's... too much, Thomas. I can't take all of this. The money. The shares. It's—"
"You can," he said, cutting in softly, but with certainty. His voice had that quiet gravity that only shows up when someone is speaking from the deepest part of themselves. "And youwill."
He paused, swallowing hard. "I don't want you to feel like money is a reason to stay stuck, or small, or scared. You can do whatever you want , anything. Start fresh. Take space. Build something new, or just rest for a while. Whatever it is... I want you to feel free to liveyourlife now."
His voice cracked, and his expression wavered as he added, "I don't expect anything in return for that. No kindness, no forgiveness, no second chance. This isn't about guilt, or trying toearn my way back. It's about giving back what I should've always shared — your autonomy. Your choices. Your peace."
He looked down for a moment, then back up, and his voice dropped to almost a whisper. "If there's anything I want to see, it's you happy. After all the pain I've caused. After all the misery you carried in silence while I was too wrapped up in my own noise to hear it. You deserve happiness. Even if it's without me."
A long silence passed between us, thick with emotion. Then, with a visible shift in his posture, heavier, almost reluctant, he added, "And there's... one more thing."
My stomach tightened.
"The reason your dad and I would disappear from time to time," he began,"I actually asked him one day... if there was a place. A beautiful place — something from your childhood. Somewhere you loved. Not a grand destination, just something that meant something toyou."
I watched him closely now, my heart beginning to race.
"And he told me about that little house," he said, his lips lifting into the faintest smile. "The one you used to visit for vacations, out in the country but never very far. You mentioned it once, the old porch swing, the way the sun hit the fields in the late afternoon. The way the air smelled different there, like clean earth and memory."
He shifted, looking suddenly younger, unsure. "So... we drove out there. Just to see it. And it took some convincing, a lot, actually, but I bought it. The house. And the land next to it."
My breath caught in my throat.
"It was a mess," he said with a light chuckle, eyes softening. "Run down, half-forgotten, windows cracked, paint peeling. But your dad... he said something I didn't expect. He told me, 'Don't hire it out. Don't take the easy route. Get your hands dirty. Fix it. Build something with your own two hands. You need that.'"
He looked at me, more raw than I'd ever seen him. "So we did. Every time we 'disappeared,' we were out there. Fixing siding. Repairing floorboards. Repainting shutters. Clearing out the weeds. Replacing the roof. Sometimes we'd fight like hell about how to do something, and sometimes we'd just sit on the porch with beers and talk about you. About what you deserved. About how badly I'd failed you, how I may have had abusive parents but I did the same to you, whether I was aware of it or not, and how I should now respect what you want and need from me."
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice dropped, thick with feeling.
"But I didn't just want to fix the house. I wanted toplantsomething too. To grow something. So I turned the land into a garden."
He looked nervous, like he wasn't sure if it was the right choice. "I remembered how you always lit candles before bed, how you'd stop mid-walk just to breathe in a hedge of blooming jasmine, or lavender, or roses. You told me once the right scent could change your entire day. That it could shift your whole mood, anchor you, bring you peace."
His eyes were glistening now. "So I tried to recreate that. I planted rows of lavender. Wild roses. Jasmine near the front so the scent greets you as soon as you arrive. Peonies. Sweet alyssum. Gardenia. Even orange blossom and wisteria climbingthe trellises. Different flowers for different seasons, different moods. I wanted to make something living. Something for you."
He exhaled slowly, hands trembling slightly. "You can go there whenever you want. You don't have to ask me. I had the deed written in your name."
