The fire whispered low in the hearth as I sat surrounded by my grandchildren. Their faces glowed in the amber light, wide-eyed and eager for the end of the story.
"Grandfather," Clara asked softly, "did it truly happen? All of it?"
I smiled, though my hands trembled with age. "Yes, child. Every word. Once I thought myself untouchable, but life proved otherwise. The fire, the betrayal, the silence of the heavens, all of it shaped the man I became."
They leaned closer, and I lowered my voice. "I searched for answers, asking why suffering exists, why good men fall while villains prosper. No higher voice ever answered. Perhaps the only answer is this: we endure because we must. We rise again because we choose to."
For a moment the only sound was the crackle of wood. Then young Edward asked, "But if it all went wrong… what became of you?"
I let out a quiet laugh. "Why, where did it all go wrong? Perhaps it never did. Look around you. I lived to see fields planted where ashes once lay, to hold you in my arms. That is treasure enough."
The fire dimmed, and I leaned back, my heart at peace. My story was no longer mine alone, it now belonged to them.