And they failed.
The signs had been there for years.
Daniel stopped calling me Dad.
Emily insisted I “call ahead.”
They were embarrassed by my old car, my worn coat, my hands—hands that built everything they enjoyed.
At gatherings, they introduced me like I was irrelevant.
“The guy who got lucky.”
That always made me smile.
Because I didn’t get lucky.
I built the world they were pretending to understand.
That night, everything collapsed over something small.
I gave Daniel a restored antique watch—something his grandfather once dreamed of owning.
