The manuscript takes another year to complete, considerably longer than I initially anticipated given the emotional weight of revisiting decades of accumulated memory.
"It's ready," I tell Talia one evening, setting the final printed draft on our kitchen table with genuine satisfaction despite the exhaustion of this extended writing process.
She reads through it carefully over the following days, occasionally pausing to wipe away tears, other times smiling at memories we've shared throughout our decades together.
"This is remarkable, Sevric," she says finally, closing the final page. "You've captured everything, genuinely everything, from that terrifying first night through everything we've built since."
"I want you to read it too," I tell Elena during our next family gathering, slidin
