Ten years ahead and I see the truth. This is not a home, it’s a tomb I’m still breathing in. I thought love would be enough. I thought hard work would mean something. But the world doesn’t care. It grinds me down, feeds on my sweat, and spits me back into the dirt. My wife— she deserves better than this ghost beside her. My kids— they deserve skies, not ceilings. But all I hand them is hunger dressed as patience, poverty wrapped in silence. My daughter says she can be anything. I nod, I smile, but inside I’m screaming, No. You can’t. Not with me as your father. Not with this bloodline of broken promises. She looks at me like I’m a giant. But I know what I am— small, hollow, a man who failed at the only thing that mattered. And when the night swallows me whole, there’s no dream train waiting, no future, no light. Just the sound of my own breath echoing in a room that already feels like a grave.
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