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CHAPTER 14: THE TASTE OF VICTORY

That evening, my father and I held a private dinner at a quiet, elegant restaurant overlooking the city skyline.

There were no media cameras, no screaming mother-in-laws, and no hidden agendas. Just good food, glowing city lights, and absolute peace.

The waiter set down a large, beautifully prepared garden salad at the center of the table.

My father looked at the bowl, then looked up at me, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

"Do you want me to ask for something else?" he joked gently.

May you like

I picked up my fork, smiled, and took a bite.

"No," I said, looking out at the glittering lights of the city I had reclaimed. "It tastes like victory."

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