“Stop working. I haven’t authorized these renovations.”
Then I faced Mom. “You’re done making decisions for me.”
You can’t take mine.
***
Three months later, probate ended. I moved into Dad’s house.
Paige still refused to speak to me.
Mom tried calling, but I wasn’t ready to forgive her.
Dean and I slowly made peace. He even helped me repair the barn roof.
Behind a cabinet, I found Dad’s unfinished table.
You’re done making decisions for me.
I spent weeks completing it, then carved underneath:
Made by Richard and Nora.
I placed his wooden bird on top.
For years, I’d avoided arguments, knowing Dad would always defend me. But losing him taught me something I’d needed to learn long ago.
I could stand up for myself. And I didn’t need anyone’s permission to live the life I wanted.
