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" I 'd like to turn this in," I said. The cancellation letter shook as I handed it to Brandon, the manager of the gym I had used for an escape. I forced myself to smile. He looked down at it, then up at me too quickly.

Fuck, he knew.

There was a silence between us that grew heavy with everything unsaid. Brandon had seen the late nights, the lingering looks, and the way Angie used to drape herself over the front desk when she knew I was coming in. The man wasn’t stupid.

He scratched the scruff of his beard as he read the letter, then folded it with deliberate care. “So… that’s it, huh?” he asked, the question loaded with implication.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

This was the first real move. The first cut.

This was part of the cleanse. Part of shedding the version of myself that had made these reckless and dumb decisions.

This was just another step toward erasing the Old Me and tying off loose ends.

One less place Angie might expect to find me.

One less routine tethering the New Me to the Old Me.

“Shame to lose you, Levi. You and Angie were in here like clockwork,” Brandon said, flipping the cancellation form over in his battered hands.

The man looked better suited for fighting than running a place filled with mirrors and protein shakes.

His words held a quiet condemnation wrapped in casual indifference.

I didn’t flinch. He ran a gym, not a confessional.

I kept a polite curve to my lips. “Yeah… Just need to put my focus back where it should’ve been all along. My family.”

Brandon snorted a laugh laced with bitterness and resignation as he slapped the counter. “Ain’t that the truth? My wife’s been on me for months about cutting back hours. Wants me home more. Says the kids barely know what I look like.”

The irony wasn’t lost on me as I glanced him over.

He had the build of a man who used to compete and still clung to the title: broad shoulders, thick forearms, and a gut that spoke more of post-workout beers and skipped cardio than discipline.

If I had any fucks left to give, I might’ve told him to go home and screw his wife like a man who still believed in vows. But honestly? I didn’t care.

He shoved the cancellation form into a drawer with a thud, then looked up at me and asked, “You want me to give Angie the heads-up?”

I stiffened, my jaw clenching so tight it hurt, but I shook my head and forced the words out. “No. She doesn’t need to know anything about me anymore.”

There was a flicker of recognition in Brandon’s eyes, a brief flash of understanding that didn’t need to be spoken. He nodded slowly, not pushing it. “Alright, man. Take care of yourself. ”

I didn’t respond, just turned and walked out, the door closing behind me with finality. The sun slapped me. Too bright. Too clean. It burned against the parts of me still rotting from the inside, but I kept walking.

The next step was mechanical, soulless in a way that made it easier. From the gym parking lot, the one I knew would get closed once the quarantines and shut downs happened, I opened my banking app. Numbers glared back like silent judges:

Joint Checking: $10,136.98 Individual Savings: $604,129.93 Individual Brokerage: $558,427.35 IRA: $742,008.94 Master Builders Inc. Checking: $5,457,814.55

All that money. All that success. Yet, Old Me had still managed to tear his life to pieces like it cost nothing.

I knew that sometime this week I would need to add Sloane to all of the accounts I had setup in only my name; an effort for full transparency on how our money was being spent.

I needed to ensure she knew that everything I owned - we owned.

It was a huge step toward rectifying the financial insecurity I knew she had to feel while working her low paying job.

I moved $50,000 into our joint checking account with practiced fingers. I knew the money didn’t fix anything, but I hoped it could help alleviate any worries she harbored over our finances. Who knows? Maybe she would make a frivolous purchase out of spite.

Hell, I wish my practical Sloane would do something like that for herself.

I sent her a quick text that I moved over some money and she should reserve a room at one of the deluxe hotels with the kids.

I saw the brief check that showed she read it as I turned my attention back to the accounts.

I made a mental note to call the accountant since I’d need to pause any major purchases given the market would soon freeze.

My brief listening of the radio was enough that to feel the shift in the air after hearing the news about the West.

I flipped over to the talk radio station and let the angry voices spill through the speakers like static.

"Good morning. You're listening to GA92.1 FM, a community radio. We know these are stressful times, and we’ll be here with updates. Here are your headlines…"

The radio droned on, ranting about the election; another cycle of blame and bluster. Abortion had been the deciding wedge this time. Always something to divide us. Always someone to hate.

I turned the volume down, but let it hum in the background as the engine of the truck roared to life. Steading myself, I drove toward my business, toward my responsibility to support my family and those I had working for me.

The office building was a monument to Old Me.

Tall. Stark. Polished. It had my company name on the sign: Master Builders Inc.

That day, it felt as if I was driving up to someone else’s empire.

A man who'd built his business out of bravado and greed. A man who’d left his wife to carry the weight of the world while he played king.

Sloane had helped me name this place. We were sitting on the porch drinking cheap wine while she bounced ideas off her phone. She came up with Master Builders inspired by Liam’s love of Legos. I laughed, kissed her, said it was perfect.

When I pulled in, Jose was already out front, puffing on a cigarette like always. He waved when he saw me, flicking the butt onto the gravel and crushing it under his boot .

“Hey, jefe,” he said as he fell into step beside me.

“Got good news. The Kew West deal’s a go.

Full green light. The investors want to break ground by next month.

Our guys are already packing. Most of ‘em can’t wait to get away from the ol’ ball n' chain.” He laughed, but the sound felt hollow to my ears.

I didn’t answer. I pushed open the office door and walked inside, tossing my phone onto the desk like it weighed a thousand pounds. I reached for my hard hat. Didn’t even put it on. Just stared at it.

Might as well rip the bandage off.

“We’re pulling out of that project,” I said.

Behind me, I heard Jose stop in his tracks. “Come again?”

“I’m canceling Key West.”

A pause then his voice rose, too sharp and too fast. “Boss, that deal’s worth over two million dollars! We’ve already sent scouts down, already filed permits—”

I lifted my gaze to him as I put the hard hat back down and said, “I don’t care.

” He stared at me as if I'd confessed I planned to burn the company down. “Listen, we’re hemorrhaging money. Fuel, labor, materials. It’s not sustainable.

And Key West is a vanity project… and I’m done chasing vanity. ” My voice almost broke there.

Jose took a step forward and asked, “Is this about her?”

I didn’t have to ask who he meant. My hands curled into fists on the desk.

I took a breath, then another. “This is about me,” I said.

“I built this place chasing numbers. Chasing attention. I had a wife who loved me. Kids who needed me. But I was out there: traveling, expanding, grinding. I was starving for… something, but I had no clue what that something was. Through it all, I let myself become someone I wouldn’t trust around my own daughter. ”

The room was quiet. Jose watched me, that calculating stillness of his settling in.

He had been with me from the start. The most loyal second-in-command anybody could ever ask for.

Through miles of misadventures together, I had helped pull him out of the chaos of border towns and broken promises.

I helped him get his green card, helped him buy land, and together we'd poured the foundation for a house his sons could grow up in. He never forgot any of those things. That kind of loyalty doesn’t come from a handshake; it’s forged in debt, in gratitude, in survival.

Jose would follow me through Hell if I asked, even if he didn’t agree.

“I’m scaling back,” I said. “Local builds only. No more chasing deals states away. I want to be home by dinner. I want to show up for my kids. I want, fuck, I need , to fix what I broke before there’s nothing left to fix.”

Jose rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor. “Damn, jefe… That’s heavy.”

I shrugged. “It’s honest.”

He nodded slowly before he looked back up. In an instant, his expression hardened, slipping into business mode without a second thought, “Alright. I’ll start pulling the Florida crews back. What about the contracts?”

“Call the lawyer. Kill them. Pay what we need to pay. I don’t care.”

He hesitated for a second, then slapped my shoulder. His stone-cold facade slipped a bit as the weight of the moment broke through, “Good on you, man. Real talk, I was wondering when you were gonna come back to Earth.”

Then you should’ve fucking said something , I wanted to say.

But I held it back. I knew Jose would speak up if he thought I was about to run the business into the ground…

but when it came to personal ma tters, we both tiptoed around the edges and only ventured into those conversations when necessary.

I handed him the clipboard for the contacts of the Key West jobs. “Thanks. Now get out there and let’s fix this.”

Jose walked out, leaving the door open.

I placed my hands over my face, feeling the weight of everything settle.