Ethan:
I’d been in New York for exactly a month, and somehow, it already felt like home.
It was loud, exhausting, and full of promise. I’d spent the last weeks finalizing construction details for Lume, my restaurant. My dream. The one I’d been building piece by piece since I was a kid sitting in my grandma’s kitchen, watching her roll pastry dough while humming to Frank Sinatra.
It was finally happening.
In less than a week, the doors to Lume would open, and for the first time in my life, I’d be doing something that was mine, not my family’s, not their legacy, and certainly not their expectations, at my own pace and my own time.
Still, I couldn’t shake the tiny voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like my grandmother.
“You don’t need to prove anything, Ethan. You already carry
