---- Chapter 28 Years melted into a comfortable, happy decade. Warner- Mullen Digital continued to thrive under our joint leadership, pushing the boundaries of what was possible. Our partnership was a true one, in the boardroom and at home. We challenged each other, supported each other, and laughed a lot. Nicky found his own path, not in coding, but in sustainable energy. He founded his own company, driven by a desire to heal the planet, a mission we were immensely proud of. He fell in love with a brilliant young scientist, a woman who challenged and adored him in equal measure, much like Dante and. One crisp autumn afternoon, the whole family was gathered at our home. Nicky and his wife had just announced that they were expecting their first child. | was going to be a grandmother. As the celebration wound down, | found myself alone on the terrace, a cup of tea warming my hands. The sun was setting, painting the sky in familiar shades of orange and purple. | thought of the young, broken woman who had stood on a similar terrace so many years ago, her world in ashes. | wished | could tell her that it would all be okay. That the pain would fade. That the love she thought had defined her was just a ---- prelude to a much grander, more beautiful story. "There you are." Dante's voice, a beloved melody in the soundtrack of my life. He came and stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Thinking?" he asked. "Remembering," | said. "Thinking how lucky | am." "We both are," he said, kissing the side of my head. "Look what you built, Anya. Not just the company. This." He gestured with his head to the house behind us, where the sounds of our family's laughter still echoed. "This is the real empire." He was right. The company, the fortune, the legacy... it was all secondary to this. The love, the connection, the family. A news alert pinged on my watch. A small, insignificant headline from a foreign news service. "Unidentified foreign national dies in charity clinic fire in South America." The accompanying photo was grainy, but the man's face, older, weathered, and strangely at peace, was unmistakable. Hamilton Glass was dead. | felt a ghost of a pang, not of sorrow, but of a quiet, final closure. A chapter that had ended long ago had finally had its last page turned. He had spent his life as a ghost, and he had died as one, anonymous and alone. A tragic, wasted life. ---- | closed my eyes, said a silent, final goodbye to the boy | had once loved, and then | let him go for good. | turned in Dante's arms, my heart full not with ghosts of the past, but with the vibrant, beautiful reality of my present "| love you," | said, the words as easy and natural as breathing. "| love you, too," he replied, his eyes full of the same steady, unwavering love that had been my anchor for so many years. "Now, come on. Your granddaughter is waiting, and | hear there's one last piece of cake." We walked back into the light and warmth of our home, leaving the shadows of the past behind, forever.