"She stayed up late with me the night before," Hannah explained. "I was convinced I was going to fail."
Curtis looked at his daughter.
"That sounds like her."
Maya rolled her eyes.
"Dad."
"What?"
"Don't embarrass me."
"I'm just confirming the evidence."
Hannah laughed.
"She was very patient."
Curtis nodded.
"She gets that from her mother."
Maya smiled.
Later that evening, Curtis and Maya sat outside a small restaurant.
The weather was warm, and traffic moved slowly along the street.
Maya had placed her bouquet on the empty chair beside her.
Curtis looked at her.
"You've been quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
She took a breath.
"I got the job."
Curtis smiled.
"The hospital in Charlotte?"
"Yes."
"That's good news."
"I know."
"Then why do you look worried?"
Maya looked down at her hands.
"Because it's a big move."
"It is."
"And I won't be close enough to drive home every weekend."
Curtis smiled.
"You don't have to drive home every weekend."
"I know."
"You'll have your own schedule. Your own apartment. Your own responsibilities."
"I know."
He watched her carefully.
"Is there something else?"
Maya hesitated.
"I guess I'm worried about leaving you here."
Curtis looked toward the street.
"Why?"
"Because you've been alone for a long time."
He understood what she meant.
Since Denise had died, the house in Louisville had been quiet.
Maya had grown up, gone to college, and built a life beyond the city.
Curtis had learned to live with the quiet.
But he also understood that his daughter might feel guilty about leaving.
He reached across the table.
"Maya, listen to me."
She looked up.
"You don't owe me your future."
Her eyes softened.
"I know."
"Do you?"
He smiled.
"Because I want you to go. I want you to take that job. I want you to meet people, make mistakes, learn things, and build a life that belongs to you."
"What if I need help?"
"Then you call me."
"What if I miss home?"
"Then you come home."
"What if you need me?"
Curtis smiled.
"Then I'll call you."
She laughed softly.
"You're making this sound very simple."
"It isn't simple."
He paused.
"But it is important."
Maya looked at him.
"I don't want you to feel abandoned."
Curtis squeezed her hand.
"Missing you isn't the same as being abandoned."
She lowered her eyes.
He continued.
"When your mother was alive, she used to tell me that raising a child wasn't about keeping them close forever. It was about giving them enough confidence to walk into the world without being afraid of it."
Maya smiled.
"She said that?"
"More than once."
"She was right."
"She usually was."
They sat quietly.
Then Maya looked at him.
"You're not going to tell me you'll miss me?"
Curtis laughed.
"I'll miss you."
"Then why aren't you making this difficult?"
"Because missing you isn't a good reason to hold you back."
Maya reached across the table and held his hand.
"Sometimes I think you're better at this than I am."
"At what?"
"Letting people go."
Curtis looked toward the street.
"I've had practice."
Maya understood that he was thinking about Denise.
She squeezed his hand.
"She would be proud of you."
Curtis nodded.
"I hope so."
He did not say anything else.
He did not need to.
A Letter From Aaron
A few weeks after Maya's graduation, Curtis received a letter.
It arrived in his mailbox on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
The envelope was plain white.
His name was handwritten across the front.
Curtis recognized the sender immediately.
Aaron Pike.
He carried the envelope inside and placed it on the kitchen table.
For several minutes, he finished preparing his dinner before opening it.
The letter was several pages long.
Aaron explained that he had continued helping with beginner classes at Raines Combat Academy.
He described a nervous student who had been afraid to participate.
The boy was eleven years old and had recently joined the academy after being bullied at school.
During his first class, he had stood near the wall and refused to pair up with anyone.
Aaron had approached him.
He did not ask why the boy was afraid.
He simply offered to practice the basic movements beside him.
After a few minutes, the boy began participating.
By the end of the month, he was arriving early.
Aaron also wrote about a father who had apologized because his son was clumsy.
The father had seemed embarrassed, explaining that the boy had never been particularly athletic.
Aaron had told him that the academy was not a place where children needed to prove they were already good at something.
It was a place where they could learn.
Near the end of the letter, Aaron wrote:
I used to think a strong instructor was someone who could make people listen. Now I think a strong instructor is someone who makes people feel safe enough to learn.
Curtis read the sentence twice.
Then he continued.
Aaron described a young girl who had learned to fall safely and spent the entire afternoon demonstrating it to her family.
He wrote that the girl had been terrified during her first class.
Now she wanted to show her grandmother what she had learned.
Aaron said that Olivia had encouraged him to help with more beginner sessions.
Marcus had also asked him to assist with a new program for adults who had never trained before.