Chapter 6 - The True Feast
Six months later. Early summer.
The afternoon sun cast a bright, golden light across the green lawn of our backyard.
We were hosting a summer barbecue for my family, a few close friends, and Walter, who now visited us every two weeks on his own, forming a sweet, quiet bond with Theo that he had never been allowed to cultivate under Brenda's watchful eye.
Brenda and Renee had remained at a cold distance, refusing to attend events where Margo was not "properly accountable," but their absence no longer carried any weight in our home. Their toxic dynamic had been excised like a tumor, leaving behind a space that was light, peaceful, and real.
I stood near the outdoor grill wearing a simple sundress, flipping fresh salmon fillets alongside my mother, while Graham played soccer with Theo on the grass.
Graham kicked the ball toward the net, let Theo score a goal, and then walked over to the patio, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, pressing a warm kiss against the side of my neck.
"Smells incredible, chef," Graham whispered softly into my ear.
I smiled, leaning my head back against his shoulder, watching our son laugh as Walter helped him set up a small plastic trophy on the grass.
"Nobody called it dry yet," I teased gently.
Graham chuckled—a deep, genuine sound that carried zero tension, zero guilt, and zero regret.
"If anyone calls it dry," Graham smiled, looking into my eyes with deep, unshakeable devotion, "I'll carry the whole grill to your mom's house myself."
I turned in his arms, wrapping my hands around his neck, looking out over the sunlit yard filled with people who loved, respected, and valued every single piece of who I was.
May you like
The twenty-two-pound turkey was long gone. The garlic brines and the lattice crusts were memories of a past life spent begging for table scraps of affection.
Standing in the warm summer breeze, surrounded by true family, I knew that I would never, ever beg for a seat at anyone's table again. I had built my own.
