Lily, meanwhile, had located a jar of cookies on the counter. She glanced at her father, who gave a slight nod of approval, then turned to George with a hopeful smile. “May I have one, Mr. Müller?”

“Of course, help yourself,” George said, feeling a warmth spread through him at her polite request. It was a small gesture, but it reminded him of the simple joys life could still hold.

As they toured the house, George found himself sharing stories about his life there — not out of obligation, but because he wanted to. He spoke of Marianne’s love for gardening, pointing out the roses she had nurtured into bloom year after year. He described holiday gatherings, the laughter that would spill from the dining room, filling every corner with joy.

By the time they returned to the kitchen, George felt lighter, as though he had shed a heavy coat after a long winter. Daniel shook his hand firmly, promising to be in touch soon with updates.

“Thank you,” George said, meaning it. As Daniel and Lily made their way to the door, George noticed Lily pause, her tiny hand reaching for his.

“Good luck, Mr. Müller,” she said earnestly, her eyes full of sincerity far beyond her years.

“Thank you, Lily,” he replied softly, touched by her kindness. “I think I’m going to need it.”

As they left, George stood in the doorway, watching them disappear down the street. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over everything. For the first time since that fateful phone call, George felt a sense of peace. He wasn’t a burden. He was still George Müller, a man capable of new beginnings, ready to embrace whatever came next.