The next few days were chaotic as Jason tried to reach me from different numbers, sending messages that shifted from anger to pleading, but I ignored all of them.
Then one morning, he showed up.
He stood outside the workshop, looking out of place, and said, “Olivia, we need to talk.”
“What do you want,” I asked calmly.
“I came to fix things,” he said, stepping closer, “we can start over.”
“No,” I replied.
He looked shocked, and I continued, “You did not fight for us when it mattered, and now you are only here because you are losing something.”
He tried to argue, but I stopped him.
“I spent five years trying to belong in your life, and you chose silence every time I needed you, so do not stand here now and pretend you are ready to be different.”
He stood there, unable to respond, and after a long moment, he said quietly, “He always liked you more.”
I looked at him, surprised, and he added, “My father saw you, and I think I hated that.”
I took a slow breath and said, “You could have seen me too.”
That ended the conversation, and he left without another word.
The months that followed were not easy, but I worked hard to rebuild the workshop, fixing what I could and learning what I did not know, and slowly it became something real.
I named it Grace Workshop, keeping his sister’s memory alive, and began helping people with small repairs and paperwork, building a life piece by piece.
