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“You’re doing great,” he’d say when I successfully parallel parked between two cones. “Most people take way longer to get that.”
I practiced everything. Highway merging.
Some nights, I came home with my hands cramping from gripping the wheel too tightly.
Harry would ask why I looked tired, and I’d blame spreadsheets and deadlines.
He never questioned it. He barely looked up from his phone.
I gained confidence and independence. I learned that the power I’d been handing over to him (the ability to go where I wanted and when I wanted) had always been mine to take back.
I just needed to stop waiting for permission.
Three months later, I passed my driving test on the first try.
Miguel shook my hand and said, “I’m proud of you.”
No one else in my life had said that in years.
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