Months later, I wrote my mother a letter telling her I was happy and that the door remained open if she ever wanted to know me without controlling me. Then I mailed it and stopped waiting for an answer. Leo and I moved into Gianna’s little house on a Saturday, carrying boxes through rooms far smaller than anything my parents would have considered impressive. The next morning I walked into the kitchen and found a jar of wildflowers on the table, freshly picked from the yard. I stood there smiling because some things had not changed at all. My parents had taught me to measure security in money, trust funds, and status. Leo taught me that sometimes security is simply knowing the person beside you has nothing hidden behind their love. And after everything, that felt richer than anything I had walked away from.