PART 67
Sofia eventually married.
Years later.
A man named Adrian.
Calm.
Patient.
Architect too.
They argued about buildings constantly.
Love apparently.
When she told me she was engaged, my stomach tightened.
She noticed.
“Dad.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Correct.”
We laughed.
Then I asked.
“Do you trust him?”
She said.
“Yes.”
Good.
PART 68
Before their wedding, Adrian invited me to dinner.
Alone.
I expected some traditional father-of-the-bride conversation.
Instead, he handed me documents.
Prenuptial agreement.
Estate disclosures.
Financial statement.
I stared.
He said.
“I know what happened before.”
“I want everything transparent.”
I almost hugged him.
Did not.
Too much.
I said.
“You understand those are between you and Sofia.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not asking approval.”
Better.
PART 69
Their wedding was small.
Forty guests.
No press.
No dramatic ballroom.
Outdoor courtyard.
Lucas walked Sofia down the aisle with me.
He was seventeen.
Tall.
No crooked bow tie.
No USB.
Good.
At the altar, he squeezed my hand.
I froze.
He whispered.
“Relax, Grandpa.”
I almost laughed during the ceremony.
PART 70
Adrian married Sofia.
No interruption.
No police.
No evidence drives.
Just vows.
It felt strangely miraculous.
PART 71
At the reception, Lucas gave a toast.
He said.
“My mom taught me that family should make you feel safe.”
Then.
“My grandpa taught me to always keep backups.”
Everyone laughed.
I glared.
Sofia laughed hardest.
Fine.
Humor means the wound has changed shape.
PART 72
I dated again eventually.
Very slowly.
Not for years.
Then I met Margaret.
Widow.
Sixty-three.
Retired professor.
She had no interest in my money.
Mostly because she had no interest in my business at all.
Whenever I talked too long about hotels, she fell asleep.
Excellent sign.
PART 73
Our first major disagreement was about travel.
I wanted Italy.
She wanted Portugal.
We argued.
Then she said.
“Victor, disagreement is not danger.”
I went silent.
She was right.
Trauma can make ordinary conflict feel suspicious.
I had to learn trust without becoming naive.
Hard.
Possible.
PART 74
Margaret never moved into my house.
We kept separate homes.
She liked hers.
I liked mine.
People found that strange.
We did not care.
Love does not require merged accounts.
Another lesson.
PART 75
I never remarried.
Not because marriage was poisoned forever.
Because I no longer needed it as proof of companionship.
Margaret and I stayed together twelve years.
Good years.
Simple.
Honest.
PART 76
Monica wrote me once from prison.
A long letter.
I almost threw it away.
Then read it.
She apologized.
Then explained.
Then blamed Rafael.
Then apologized again.
Then said she had loved me “in her own way.”
I stopped there.
Some phrases are too convenient.
I did not reply.
PART 77
Years later, another letter came.
Shorter.
No blame.
It said.
Victor.
I used your loneliness against you.
I used your trust against Sofia.
I harmed your family.
I am sorry.
That letter I believed more.
Still no reply.
Belief does not obligate contact.
PART 78
Sofia asked.
“Do you forgive her?”
I thought.
Then said.
“Enough to stop thinking about her every day.”
She nodded.
“Good answer.”
Maybe.
Forgiveness is overrated when treated like obligation.
Peace mattered more.
