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."