Chapter 15 - The Brightest Morning
The following Sunday morning, Declan woke up without an alarm.
For the first time in thirty-eight years, he didn't wake up scanning the perimeter for threats or checking the chamber of a pistol tucked beneath his pillow. The house was blissfully quiet, filled only with the soft, natural sounds of the Pacific Northwest morning—wind rustling through the pine trees and distant waves lapping against the shore.
He walked downstairs into the spacious, sunlit kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of coffee. He poured a cup, stepped out onto the wide front porch, and leaned against the wooden railing.
The front gates were wide open, welcoming the morning breeze and the warm golden sunlight that flooded across the driveway. Across the street, a neighbor waved cheerfully from their garden, and Declan raised his coffee mug in friendly response.
May you like
He took a slow sip, feeling the warmth spread through his chest. He was no longer an executioner, a prisoner of guilt, or the master of a fortified tomb.
Declan Walsh was finally, truly home. And for the rest of his life, the doors would always remain open.
