Chapter 9
He left a generous tip.
Not because the service had been excellent. Because somewhere out there a woman had earned it six months ago and he had not been in a position to pay it then.
He walked out into the Via Martelli, into the city that was his to understand and rebuild and carry forward, and he thought about principles, and whether they were worth the cost, and decided, as he always had, that they were—not because they made survival easy, but because without them, what survived wasn’t worth the name.
The morning light fell across the black-and-white floor behind him as the café door swung shut.
He did not look back.
Some things you carried forward, not because you could change them, but because letting them go meant losing the piece of yourself that still knew what was worth saving.
He had chosen to keep that piece.
May you like
Everything else could be rebuilt.
THE END.
