Later that night, after the restaurant had closed and everything was quiet, I stood alone in the dining room holding the receipt folder in my hands.

Denise placed a hand gently on my shoulder.

“Are you alright,” she asked.

I looked around at the restaurant I had built from nothing, at the space that represented years of effort and dedication, and at the people who depended on me to protect it.

For the first time in a long while, I felt something clear and steady.

“Yes,” I said.

“I am now.”