She hesitated.
“Can I ask one thing?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you think people can change?”
I studied her face.
I thought about Jared.
Richard.
Celeste.
Myself.
Then I answered.
“I think people can change when they stop asking others to overlook the past and start doing something different in the present.”
Vanessa nodded.
“That’s fair.”
She turned toward the driveway.
Then stopped.
“Leah?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad Thomas built you this house.”
I looked at her.
For the first time, her words carried no mockery.
No hidden insult.
No calculation.
“Thank you, Vanessa.”
She walked to her car.
I opened the gate.
She drove away.
And I closed it again.
Not because I hated her.
But because I finally understood that kindness and access were not the same thing.
Epilogue: What Thomas Really Left Behind
Two years after Thomas died, I stood on the porch of Hawthorne Ridge watching a ribbon-cutting ceremony beneath the apple trees.
