Chapter 9 - Rebuilding from the Roots
By spring, Michael and I had completely uprooted our old routines and planted new ones.
Michael had officially resigned from Reyes Enterprises, taking his capital and starting an independent architectural and structural consultancy firm. For the first time in his life, he wasn't carrying the financial burden of an ungrateful family; he was building a business that bore his own name, driven by his own vision.
As for me, I had returned to interior design—not as a hobby, but as a full-time career. My first major solo project was redesigning our entire apartment, turning every room into a bright, airy sanctuary filled with natural light, vibrant plants, and custom wooden furniture Michael built with his own hands in his workshop.
One Sunday morning, the sun poured streaming beams across our living room floor.
The smell of freshly brewed espresso and toasted sourdough filled the air.
There was no roast in the oven. There were no twenty relatives arriving late with critical eyes and barbed comments. There was just the quiet, rhythmic sound of jazz playing softly from the kitchen speaker and Michael humming along as he flipped pancakes on the griddle.
I walked up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my face against his back.
He paused, turning around with a spatula in one hand and a smile that always made my heart skip a beat.
“Good morning, wife,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
“Good morning,” I smiled, looking up at him. “What are we doing today?”
“Nothing,” Michael said firmly. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
May you like
I laughed, resting my head against his shoulder.
The slap on my face had left a mark once, but the sting had faded long ago. What remained was the sound of metal hitting porcelain—the exact moment the cage door swung open, and we finally walked out into the light.
