In the following days, people reached out—friends, and strangers alike—offering support, legal advice, and solidarity. The world, once small and suffocating, expanded with possibilities. My father had been the architect of my silence, but now, in the wreckage of his public image, I found the space to rebuild anew.

The house on Juniper Avenue, once a symbol of my labor and love, became something even greater. It became a testament to resilience, a home not just of brick and mortar, but of self-determination and new beginnings. And in that home, I began to craft a life that was truly, unequivocally mine.