“So that’s it?” Mia asked at last. “You just drive away in your fancy car and leave us hanging?”
“I’m leaving you with choices,” I said. “That’s more than I ever got.”
For a fleeting moment, I imagined Dad sitting on those steps, ribbing me about the car. The tightness in my chest reminded me that version of us no longer existed.
“I hope you figure things out,” I added. “But I can’t fix it for you.”
No one spoke. I turned, walked back to the Bugatti, and slid into the driver’s seat. In the rearview mirror, I watched Mom snatch up the papers, speaking in quick bursts, while Mia stood frozen, as if stunned.
