3 - The last day

The last day came quietly, like the final note of a song long played. Thirty years of routine of familiarity, of a house in the suburbs now sold and emptied. The walls that once echoed with laughter and late-night thoughts stood silent. I stood at the doorway one last time, keys in hand, heart heavy but resolute.
I had said his goodbyes—some with tears, others with quiet nods. The office, the colleagues, the daily rhythm of the rat race—all now behind. As I drove through the city streets, the skyline blurred by the soft drizzle on the windshield, feeling the weight of transition. Cars passed by, filled with people chasing deadlines, their faces drawn with stress. That had been me. Maybe it still was, in some way.
But something had shifted.
At the edge of the city, the expressway split. Left or right. The age-old metaphor, now literal. I slowed, blinked, and turned left. Toward the coast. Toward the wild. Toward the unknown.
As the road opened before me, I found my mind wondering back to the hum of fluorescent lights. The clatter of keyboards. my desk, cluttered with sticky notes and coffee mugs, had been the command centre for decades. He remembered the first day—nervous, eager, dressed in a suit too stiff for comfort. And the last day—quiet handshakes, a farewell cake, and a speech I barely got through without choking up.
I had built something there. A reputation. A rhythm. But somewhere along the way, the spark had dimmed. Meetings blurred together. Deadlines lost their urgency. I began to feel like a ghost in my own life.
That little place, I came back to each night. the house, the hut.
It had been more than bricks and timber. It had been a sanctuary. remembering the night he brought his newborn daughter home, fumbling with the car seat, heart pounding with love and fear. remembering the backyard barbecues, the late-night talks on the porch, the quiet mornings with coffee and birdsong.
Selling it had felt like tearing out a piece of myself. But it was time. The house had served its purpose. Now, it was someone else’s turn to make memories there.
She had also left years ago to lead her own life and days, calling now and then to say, “Hi dad” and to just say how she was at times we did not say much, at others we talked for hours.
Years ago, I had stood at another crossroads. A job offer in another city. A chance to start fresh. He had turned it down, choosing stability over adventure. I had always wondered what might have been.
Now, the road was open again. And this time, I felt ready.
The coastline came into view—rugged, windswept, beautiful. The sea roared like a wild animal, untamed and eternal. pulling over, I stepped out of the car and let the wind hit full in the face. It was cold. It was real.
I didn’t know what lay ahead. Maybe regret. Maybe joy. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was living. And that, was enough.
#theturn